Setting aside Faith Friday for a week to offer a Flashback Friday instead.
Last week, Joanne over at Death of a Pancreas posted about her daughter’s entry into the world of soccer and she posted a picture of herself in one of her early years of playing. I left a comment about having an embarrassing soccer story that I wasn’t sure if I could even write. She sent me an e-mail asking about it and I couldn’t turn down someone with kids as adorable as her kids so here we go (Joanne – I hope this motivates you to pick FFL in Florida!).
I grew up in the suburbs of southern California. Like many other suburbs across the country, that meant one thing – I played soccer. Everyone played soccer. There were entire Saturdays spent on the soccer field when my brother played, I played, and my dad refereed.
The only problem was that I didn’t like soccer. At all. I don’t really like to run and soccer season in California was HOT. VERY HOT.
The first year I played I was on a team that wore yellow uniforms with black stripes. We called ourselves the Golden Girls. And we were about as good at soccer as the actual Golden Girls. We lost all of our games except the last one, which we tied. The only other thing I remember about that season was that our coach was mean and quit before the end of the season.
The next season I had the “good fortune” of being placed on a much better team. There was a girl from my church and school that was a pretty good player and her dad was one of the assistant coaches so I was able to join that team.
That year, I had two sports related injuries. The first happened when I was late to practice and running down the asphalt to the field. My shoes weren’t tied, I tripped, and knocked the wind out of myself. The second injury was when I tried to do a header, missed horribly, and got a bloody nose.
With all that, my last day of soccer was probably not a surprise to anyone. As I mentioned, my team was pretty good and we made the tournament playoffs. It was hot, I was tired, but I had to play. Yes – I had to play. I just looked up the rules to make sure my memory was correct, and the league I was in made every player play at least 3/4 of the game (whether they wanted to or not).
I was probably playing fullback or halfback (remember – no running), and instead of playing the game, I ran over to my mom on the sidelines. I don’t remember my exact wording, but according to my mom it was something like –
“Do I LOOK like these other girls*? Do I LOOK like I’m having FUN? GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
thankfully lost the game, and that was the last day I played soccer. The thing is, I am incredibly competitive and play everything else to win. Just not soccer.
*Please don’t take this as a judgement against soccer players. I was 9 or 10. Some of my best friends were and are soccer players. I just wanted off the field.
Yes, this was my original uniform. No, I’m not sure what part of my soccer history inspired my mom to hang on to it.