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From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <RevCottonMather@excite.able.boy.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game  15/30 (mf rom)
Date: Sat, 15 Dec 2001 18:10:05 -0500
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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or
downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for
anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as
long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the
privilege of acquiring this material.

(copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@excite.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

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PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 15 -

VARSITY SOCCER


School was starting in a few days, and the fall sports teams were
busy practicing.  Football was practicing in the mornings, soccer and
tennis in the afternoons.  Josh and Jake had both tried out for the
football team, and had made the junior varsity team.  I was on the
varsity soccer team, playing my right defensive position behind Skip
Horvath, a senior and one of the stars of our team.  Skip was chosen
as All-Conference as a sophomore and a junior, and was second-team
All-State last year.  Given his reputation and skills, I wasn't
planning on a lot of playing time this season, but I knew he could
teach me a lot about the game.  Even though I wasn't a starter, I was
happy to be playing on the varsity team with Skip as my mentor.  I
knew that the position was mine for my junior and senior years, as
long as I didn't screw up somehow.

I had called Lori Wilkinson to see if it was all right to come over
in the mornings for the next few days, except for Wednesday.  My last
game with the soccer club was that morning, and we had to drive for
about an hour to get there, so I wouldn't have time to work with
Davey and Kip that day before I had to go to school practice.

When I got to the first practice, I was surprised to discover that I
was one of only two sophomores on the varsity team.  There was one
freshman kid, a backup keeper I only knew slightly.  He was Kristina
Mendoza's brother, Jorge, and, like Kristina, he had been playing
year-round soccer for years in Texas.  The other sophomore was Eric
Johnson, a teammate from club soccer.  Eric won nearly every foot
race he ever ran in, from grade school through middle school.  He ran
on the track team in the spring, but he preferred soccer over cross-
country in the fall.  Because of his speed and stamina, he usually
played midfield.  He wasn't especially skilled with the ball, but he
was so lightning fast that, like Jen Davies, he left his opponents in
the dust, making him very tough to defend.

The first day of practice was spent introducing everybody, from
players to coaches to equipment managers, getting the schedules
handed out, and assigning lockers and uniforms.  The rest of the time
was spent running on the track.  We did a one mile run, rested, a
half-mile run, rested, then wind sprints.  Eric and I were in pretty
good shape from playing so much during the summer, but some of the
kids were pretty wiped by the end of the afternoon.  After the last
sprint, we all pretty much collapsed on the grass of the soccer
field, gasping and sweating.  A couple of guys crawled over to the
sidelines and threw up, something the coaches duly noted.

The coaches ordered us in to shower up.  We all stood up to walk
into the school to the locker room.  Three or four teammates were a
little wobbly and needed support, and a bunch of others were still
breathing very hard, long after Eric and I and a few others had
managed to catch our breaths.  We straggled along, glad the day's
practice was finally over.

As I was sitting on the bench in front of my locker, removing my
soccer shoes and socks and shin guards, Skip came over and sat down
beside me.  He had already removed his gear and thrown everything,
including his sodden t-shirt, into a pile.

"You came out of that torture in pretty decent shape," he said.  "I
take it you played a lot this summer."

"Yeah," I said.  "I played on a recreational team this summer, and I
also played on a club team.  As a matter of fact, we have our last
game on Wednesday morning.  I wonder if I can get out of team
practice that afternoon."

He chuckled.  "This is varsity soccer, Porter.  No excuses for missing
practice.  You're gonna get your fill of running by the time you're
done on Wednesday.  Anyway," he continued, "we're having a little
soccer team party on Saturday over at my house.  Kind of a get-to-
know-your-teammate party.  You going out with anybody?"  I nodded. 
"Bring her along.  I've got a pool, so bring a suit and a towel.  I'm
telling people to get there anytime after about 1:00 in the
afternoon.  We'll throw something on the grill for dinner, but you'll
need to provide your own drinks.  No booze.  Okay?"  He got up and
walked away without waiting for an answer.

A senior talked to me like I was an equal!  And not just any senior,
it was Skip Horvath, one of the best-known and most popular kids in
school.  Now I felt like I had really made the team.  I went home to
mow our lawn, dog-tired but happy.




The next morning I rode over to the Wilkinson house to work with
Davey and Kip.  We went over to the park and began stretching, and I
told them that I could only work with them on the weekends, now that
school was starting.

"But will you come watch our games?" asked Davey.

"Sure I will," I said.  "Remind me to get a copy of your game
schedule from your mom when we get back to your house, okay?"

"Are you gonna be our coach during the games, too?" asked Kip.

"No, sport.  Your team already has a good coach.  I'll just be there
to cheer for you."

"Oh.  Will Molly be there too?"

"Maybe.  I can ask her, if you'd like," I said.

"Molly's a good soccer player, isn't she?" asked Kip.

"Yes, she is."

"Well, why don't the two of you be our coaches, then?"

"I think it's because you're supposed to have grown-ups for coaches,
Kip.  Molly and I are still kids, too, you know."

"Really?"  He had to think about this one.  "I guess you are, if you
are still going to school like Davey and me.  But you look pretty
grown-up to me, Sean."

I laughed out loud.  "Hey, thanks, pal.  But I really don't feel
grown-up.  I like being a kid, you know."

Davey looked at me as shrewdly as an 8-year-old could.  "Yeah," he
said, "being a kid is really all right, isn't it?"

"Come on, you guys, get up and get running.  I think you're just
saying this stuff to keep from working too hard," I said with a laugh
as I climbed to my feet.  "Ready?  Last one to that willow tree over
there has to be the monkey in the middle!"  And off we dashed,
running and laughing as we dribbled our soccer balls over to the tree.

Today I wanted to try to teach them about timing and space.  I had
Davey play defender while I had the ball, and Kip was about 20 feet
to the side, counting in seconds as the drill progressed.  Davey
started about 40 feet up from me, and on my signal started running
toward me to take the ball away.  At the same time, I dribbled up
toward him, and passed the ball to Kip when Davey got near.

"How many seconds did you count, Kip?" I asked.

His eyes were big and round, hardly believing his own counting. 
"Only two!" he said.

"How many seconds did you think it would take before Davey got to me?"

"About 20," he said.

"That's how fast you have to look around for a teammate, watch your
defender, and make a decision on what to do with the ball.  Two
seconds to do all that.  Can you do it?"

"Yes!" cried Davey.

"No!" cried Kip.

We did the exercise again, and Kip was closer to being right than
Davey was, but I wasn't disappointed.  It's an extremely hard physics
concept for little kids to grasp, time and two bodies in motion. 
I've had teenaged teammates who couldn't figure it out.  But I
thought that if I could get them to at least acknowledge the
difficulty, then they would be another step up on nearly every other
kid their age on the soccer field.  After several frustrating tries
at it, I finally had to make the defender start out nearly 100 feet
away from the player with the ball.  This gave them 4 or 5 seconds to
make their decision, and that was more workable for both of them.  We
worked on this problem off and on during the whole lesson, even going
so far as to chant during our water breaks, "One potato look, two
potato pass.  One potato look, two potato pass."

Two hours later, we were headed back to their house.  We played our
Heads-Up game with three soccer balls, but kept up the chant all the
way home, passing the ball as we said the word "pass".

Lori was on the front steps waiting for us when we got to the house,
standing at the front door.  She watched as we completed our last
passes as we came past the driveway and onto the front lawn.

"Who are these boys, Sean?" she asked.  "They are too organized to
be my Davey and my Kip."  She looked down at the boys with a smile on
her face.  "Who are you, and what did you do with my sons?"

"It's us, mom, really it's us," yelled Kip.  He ran up the steps and
hugged his mother around her waist.

"I know it is, Kip, I was just teasing.  I hardly recognized you is
all, you guys were so good at passing the ball!"  She looked at me,
eyes twinkling.  "Come in and get something to drink, boys."  She
held the door open for us, and we filed in to enjoy our customary
glasses of fresh lemonade.

"So this is the last summer lesson, I guess," Lori said as she
refilled our glasses.  The boys had run upstairs to get cleaned up,
and I was hanging around for a few minutes before going home for
lunch.

"Yes, it is," I said.  "I've got a game tomorrow morning, and school
starts on Thursday."

"Kip and Davey don't start until Friday.  This summer really flew
past.  It seems like it was only yesterday that it was Memorial Day
weekend."

"I know.  I've been so busy this summer with soccer and stuff that I
almost feel like I didn't get a vacation, and now school's starting
again.  Ugh!"

"Ah, but you did have a vacation," she reminded me.  "You got to
sleep in almost every morning, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah," I said sheepishly.  "But those days are gone now."

"I'm not going to feel that badly for you, Sean," she said with a
smile.  "I haven't gotten to sleep in since the boys were born."

It was time for me to go.  I stood up and carried both our glasses
over to the sink and rinsed them out while Lori rummaged in her purse
for my money for the lessons.  When she handed me the bills, there
was an extra ten dollars folded into the middle.

"What's this for?" I asked.

"It's for being so good with the boys," she said.

"No, Lori.  I can't take it.  They've been really good, and I've
enjoyed..."

"Forget it, Sean," she said, "you're taking it."  She wrapped my
fingers around the money, and then stepped in to me, pressing herself
up against my chest.  She kept her eyes open as she kissed me softly
on the cheek, her face slightly flushed.  I could feel the bumps of
her breasts against me.  Why hadn't I noticed before? I thought to
myself.  She's a couple of inches shorter than me.

She stayed next to me for a moment more, and reached up and gave me
another kiss, this one on the corner of my mouth.  Her dark eyes were
serious, depthless pools of brown and black.  She reached up with her
left hand and squeezed my arm before stepping away.  She seemed a
little flustered, and I know I was feeling the same way.

"Thanks, Sean," she said quietly.  "Thank you for everything."




(Continued in Chapter 16)

 

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