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Message-ID: <38499asstr$1033078203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} RP Playing the Game Chap. 6/30 (mf rom)
Date: Thu, 26 Sep 2002 18:10:03 -0400
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In advance of the posting of new chapters of "Playing the Game II: Playing 
to Win", I am reposting Book I in its entirety.

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




- 6 -

LORI AND DAVEY AND KIP


The next day, I got a call from the lady who was in charge of
assigning referees to the soccer games sponsored by our soccer
association.

"Hello, Mrs. Dailey," I said.  "Is there going to be a schedule
change?"

"No, Sean," she answered.  "I got a call from one of the parents at a
game you officiated at last week that I need to talk to you about."

"Oh?" I asked with some apprehension.  "Did I do something wrong?"
I was thinking about that game that my concentration was not on after
my experience with Kayla.

"No, Sean, not at all.  This was one of your under-8 games from a
couple of weeks ago.  It seems you impressed some of the parents.
This particular mom wanted your name and phone number to ask if you
would be interested in giving some private soccer lessons to her
children.  Since it's not our policy to just give out telephone
numbers, I told her I would call you and give you her name and
number, and if you were interested you would call her instead.  She
agreed to that, so I have her information if you would like it."

"That's great, Mrs. Dailey, I really appreciate it."

"You know, Sean, usually when I get calls from parents it's to
complain about one of our officials.  It's a pleasure to be able to
pass along one of the few compliments we receive.  You should feel
good about the job you've been doing out there, and I for one really
appreciate the work you've done."

"Aw, Jeez, Mrs. Dailey, you're embarrassing me, but thanks."

"You're very welcome, Sean," she said, "And thank YOU."

She gave me the information.  The call was from a Mrs. Wilkinson, and
she was interested in beginner lessons for her 7-year-old and
8-year-old boys.  I called her and introduced myself, and we chatted
for a few minutes.

"So, Sean, you were the referee at my son's game, and I was really
impressed with how well you were able to communicate with the kids.
Kip is 7, and his brother Davey is 8, and they both say they want to
learn how to play better.  Would you be interested in helping them?
I'll be glad to pay you by the hour."

"Sure, Mrs. Wilkinson, I'll be glad to help them."

And so arrangements were made.  The Wilkinsons lived about half a
mile from my house, so I agreed to meet the boys that afternoon at
their house to start their lessons.

After lunch, I loaded up my gear in a backpack and rode my bike over
to their house.  I rang the bell, and a lady answered the door.

"You must be Sean.  I'm Lori Wilkinson.  Come on in and meet the
boys."

I was a little shocked that this person was really Mrs. Wilkinson.
She looked to be barely into her 20's.  She was about 5'6" tall,
slender, with light brown hair cut just to her shoulders.  She was
very tan and looked very fit.  The halter-top she wore accentuated
her small waist and made her top look bigger than it probably was, and
the white shorts made her tan legs look like they were about a mile
long.  If she hadn't introduced herself, I would have assumed she
was a college-age babysitter or something.

I followed her back into the house.  In the kitchen, she offered me
some lemonade, and then poked her head out the patio door.

"Kip!" she called.  "Davey!  Come in for a minute, boys!"

I heard them before I saw them.  They were yelling and tumbling and
practically doing somersaults over each other on their way into the
house.  They stopped for a second when they saw me by the kitchen
table, and Mrs. Wilkinson introduced us.

"Are you going to teach us soccer?" asked Davey.

"You were the referee at my game," said Kip at the same time.

"Yes and yes," I answered.  "Do you want to learn?"

"YEAH!" they both yelled.  "I'm gonna play for the Chicago Sting!"
shouted Davey.

"Oh yeah?  Well, I'm gonna play for...for...the CUBS!" yelled Kip.

"You dope, the Cubs play baseball, not soccer," sneered Davey.

"Not by the time I'm playing for them, they won't be," insisted Kip.

"All right, boys, enough!  Grab your soccer gear, and don't forget
your shin guards, and follow Sean, all right?  And listen to what he
says, and no smarting off to him.  He's the boss.  Got it?"  Mrs.
Wilkinson pinned them both with a stern eye.  "No trouble from you
two hoodlums, okay?" she added.

"Okay!" they shouted in unison.  And off they went to collect their
gear.

Mrs. Wilkinson watched them go, and then turned to me.

"They're good boys," she said.  "Just a little rambunctious.  They'll
listen to you.  They really like to play soccer, and I think they
really want to learn."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Wilkinson, we'll be fine.  I like little kids, and
your boys look like they know how to have fun.  We'll have a good
time, I know we will."

"Thank you, Sean.  And please, call me Lori."  She poured us both a
little more lemonade while we waited for the boys to come back.



I was right about Kip and Davey.  They were very active little boys,
but they were also happy to listen to what I had to say, as long as I
didn't talk too much.  A lot of soccer is learned kicking and
dribbling, however, not being lectured at, so the boys and I had a
great time at our first lesson working on basics.  By the end of the
first lesson they were actually passing the ball pretty much in the
direction they wanted it to go, and were running ahead of me as we
made our way from the park back to their house, passing the ball back
and forth and staying about five feet from each other, as I had
taught them.

When we got to their house, they opened the door and burst in,
shouting and yelling to their mother about their lesson.  Lori came
out from the back of the house and poured us all more lemonade as she
listened to their excited chatter about all they had learned.  Every
once in a while she would glance up at me and give me a big smile.

Finally she clapped her hands and said, "Okay, boys, way to go.
Everybody upstairs now, and wash your hands and faces.  You guys are
filthy!"

Kip and Davey slammed down their glasses and ran up the stairs, in
constant motion.  Lori refilled my glass and reached for her purse.

"Thank you so much, Sean.  I really appreciate the time you took with
them.  I know they can be a handful sometimes."

"They're great kids, Lori," I said.  "They're enthusiastic, and
they're friendly, and they really are interested in learning how to
play soccer.  They may be a lot of work, but they seem to be a lot of
fun, too."

"They are a lot of work, especially for a single mom.  But you're
right, they are fun.  Anyway," she said, handing me the money,
"here's for today.  Can you come back tomorrow?"

"Sure, and thanks for letting me work with them," I said.  We walked
to her front door, and I yelled up the stairs to the boys.  "See you
tomorrow, guys!  Good job!"

"Bye, Sean!"  "See you tomorrow, Sean!"

"Goodbye, Sean.  And thank you for taking such good care of my little
guys."  She touched my arm lightly as she said goodbye.  I hopped on
my bike and rode home, turning back to wave as I rode down the
street.  Lori was there, in her doorway, the whole time, watching me
ride away.



(Continued in Chapter 7)





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