If I Were a Soccer Coach

If I were a soccer coach, there are a few things I would need:
  • Booze.
  • Throat lozenges.
  • Punching bag.
  • Anger management counselor.
  • One of those people who follows you around with a big leaf, fanning you.  (You know, like in Egypt or in the movies.  Do they really DO that in Egypt, because if so, I totally need to go there.)
  • Aspirin.
  • More booze.
  • A nap.

And that’s just the beginning.  After this past weekend, when I watched the very first two soccer games my 7-year-old boys played in—EVER—I have a new respect and admiration for the people who coach pee wee sports.  I mean, for the love of all that is sacred and holy, either those kids are all deaf, or they don’t know their right from their left yet.  (I’m guessing it’s the latter.)
I heard a few things repeated numerous times.  One of them was, “Left wing!  Left wing!  Get to the LEFT WING!”  Now, either little Johnnie needed a hearing aid, or he had no flying fuck of an idea what a left wing even was.  And I don’t blame the kid, because I was thinking it was something I might find at KFC.  (Clearly, I have not previously been a soccer mom.  I’ve spent the majority of my time in the gymnastics realm.  So if you ask me what a rudi-ballout is, I can totally tell you, but don’t ask me to tell you how to get to the left wing, mmmm kay?)
Another thing I kept hearing was something along the lines of, “Nooooo, Joey (names have been changed to protect the innocent—and my kids),kick the ball the OTHER way!”  I personally think my boys would be really awesome at defensive offense or offensive defense…you know, kicking goals for the other team.  Because it was only their first weekend, and already they were coming REALLY close!  It was edge-of-the-lawnchair exciting!
Also, did you know that when little dudes are standing out in the grass, all bored with nothing to do, they will FIND something to do?  And when they have no toys to play with, can you guess what they play with?  Yep…IT!  They play with IT.  The little fishing worm in their pants.  They wiggle it and jiggle it and fondle it, and then, when the ball is finally kicked in their general direction, they are so busy playing with themselves that they have no idea what to do about a damned soccer hurtling toward their little heads.
One of the funniest things I think I heard this weekend was,“There’s no SKIPPING in soccer!”  Well, guess what, Coach-er-oo?  There IS skipping in soccer if you are 7 years old and the coach calls you to the bench and walking sounds boring.  Then, there is most definitely skipping in soccer.
If you are watching little dudes play soccer, you should also be prepared for the sudden and abrupt exit of one or more players from the field without warning.  This could happen for any number of reasons.  In our case, little dude apparently needed to take a shit, and well, everyone knows you can’t do THAT on the soccer field.  Duh!  And when the deed needs to be done, it doesn’t really matter that the coach might be yelling “LEFT WING!” at you.  When you gotta shit, you gotta shit.  And the best way to take care of this is to saunter off the field like you don’t have a care in the world.  Just wave at Mom, Dad, and the coach, and wander off on your merry way.
All the while, the coach kept yelling something about the left wing and coverage and forming a wall and attacking the ball.  And I’m pretty sure the boys were still trying to figure out where the wing was at the end of the game.  Was it his left or their left?  I was even confused.  The coach was sweaty and seemed to be suffering a heat stroke.  He really, really could have used a leaf-fan-wielding person and a large vat of water.  And booze.  I’m guessing he went for the booze when he got home.
Note to self:  google left wing.  And soccer.  Definitely google soccer.

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