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Message-ID: <38429asstr$1032797403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} RP Playing the Game Chap. 1/30 (mf rom)
Date: Mon, 23 Sep 2002 12:10:03 -0400
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In advance of the posting of chapters of "Playing the Game II: Playing to 
Win", I am reposting Book I in its entirety over the next several days.

Enjoy.





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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@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.
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PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 1 -

MEET SEAN PORTER


You wonder, sometimes, how you get into these situations.  Looking
back, I have to believe that, somewhere along the timeline of my
life, I was led to this point, that I would be here no matter how I
led my life.  But I digress...



Flash back to 1980.  At that time, I was a 15-year-old jock, having
spent the past several years honing my skills on the sandlot baseball
fields.  At some point during the previous year, I caught the soccer
fever that was just beginning to grip the American landscape, and by
the end of that summer I was playing on two teams and earning a
little side money as a youth referee.  Since they had some trouble
getting enough qualified adults to be referees, I had the chance to
work games with older kids than I otherwise would have.

Typically, I would be a referee for the real young ones, say 6-8
years old.  These kids would play what I liked to refer to as "swarm-
ball".  Every kid on the field, except the designated goalkeeper,
would swarm to the ball, no matter where it was on the field, and
kick at the thing as if it were a biting dog, all the time laughing
and shouting and having absolutely no idea where it was going to go
next.  The coaches and parents, meanwhile, would be screaming on the
sidelines, as if the sheer weight of their voices would make little
Kimmie or Matthew suddenly do a bicycle kick like Pele and score the
game-winning goal.

A couple of times that year, though, I was given a game with older
kids, usually in the under-14 girl's division.  These kids were
usually fairly new to the game also, but they were a lot more
coordinated in their athletic abilities, and could see how a play
could develop, so they tended to play positions a little better than
the young ones.  Their games were a lot more fun to officiate, and
the girls were a lot more fun for a horny 15-year-old guy to watch
running up and down the field.

A lot of these kids were the little sisters of friends of mine, so I
knew a lot of their names.  On the soccer field, though, I began
seeing them as individuals, instead of as that annoying kid who was
trying to hang around with us older guys.  At the first of these
games that I officiated, I could see groups of girls huddled
together, glancing over at me, talking and giggling, before the game
started.  I thought of myself as an official, however, and
acknowledging that I knew some of them was beneath my dignity.
During the inspection and instruction prior to the game, as I
checked cleats and shin guards, a couple of the girls that I knew
softly said hi to me, almost embarrassed to know me.

As the game progressed, I forgot about who they were and
concentrated on the play.  Some of the girls had been playing for
several years, others were just learning the fundamentals, but nearly
all of them, regardless of skills or experience, played
enthusiastically, and played hard.  It was kind of a revelation to me
to see these kids running hard up and down the field, heads down,
shoulders and hips and feet fighting for possession of the ball, and
sweating.  Not "glowing", not perspiring, but honest-to-God, hard-
work SWEATING.  My estimation of their commitment to athletics
climbed, and I decided then and there that I would never again think
of them as annoying little kids.

I learned a lot about those kids that day, and learned a little about
myself, too.


I didn't have any idea then, of course, but I had a LOT more that I
would learn about them...and me.



(Continued in Chapter 2)






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