Loser Trophy

The loooong Memorial weekend is over and we are just now recovered.  Ever stand around a pitch for 18 hours over two days in 90 degree heat?  Me want beer.  Me want beer right now.  But, according to societal mores, I’m supposed to stand there and drink freakin’ lemonade and watch kids play a sport and be a ”good example”.  Screw society.  Game #7 goes down much easier with a Schlitz.  My voice was raw and hoarse and my mean-spirited and completely inappropriate verbal attacks on the ref didn’t have quite the sharp vitriol it should have had without that Schlitz.  I feel like I cheated both myself and the ref.  We deserved better.

I didn’t run this past weekend.  I wanted to but we were all sun burnt to a crisp and dehydrated and, ultimately, collapsed on the floor of the house ten seconds after springing it open in a pile of empty Gatorade bottles, coolers, shin guards, and dried sweat.  I used my Asics as a pillow instead.

I know you’ve been anxiously awaiting news about how my kids BIG tournament soccer games went right?  Right?!?  Well, I’m going to tell you so grab a Schlitz and gather around the screen as Uncle Nitmos recaps my kids’ totally inappropriate weekend actions in a series of vignettes. 

Pimp Hand Strong

My filly loves the Will Ferrell movie Kicking & Screaming.  She loves to quote lines from it.  She tries to get her teammates to chant “Break someone’s clavicle!” as a pre-game team cheer.  Though she doesn’t understand the meaning, she also likes to quote “keep my pimp hand strong” – which she asked the coach before the game.

Coach:  Hey, ready to play?

Filly:  Are we going to keep our pimp hand strong this game?

Me, beaming with parental pride.

The Swan

They always talk about “form” being important in running.  It also has its place in soccer.  We captured the elusive soccer swan a couple of different times.  Shhh, here it is in all of its glory: (For all pictures, as always, click to prostate size)

These Colors Don’t Run

"Oh, no, they won't run onto the uniforms."

Yes they do.  Believe me.

Loser Trophy

Poor filly has inherited my competitiveness.   I blogged about being First Loser years ago.  Her team had an incredible tournament with a Goals For/Against of 19-6, a +13.  They won their first three matches 3-1, 4-2, and 10-0 to advance to the Championship match where they were downed by a more disciplined team 3-2 by a goal with a mere 4 minutes remaining.  Great tournament for them but, of course, my filly was displeased.  The team received a second place trophy for which she lovingly described as a “loser trophy”.  Here she paused in mid pout for a quick picture.  You might note the redness of the eyes...and the pink hair spray coloring on the front of the uniform.

I was also hyper competitive as a kid.  I’ve (mostly) grown out of that.  Hopefully, she’ll mature quicker.  As a perpetual non-winner, I’ve learned to appreciate the accomplishments of mediocrity.  In fact, if I win an age group award at a race, I’ve been known to parade it around the house, set it next to me at the dinner table and maybe (or maybe not, I’ll never tell) sleep with it at night.  Fourth place age group awards give the best bed.

Lesson:  Take the time to celebrate an accomplishment.

Her totals:  3 goals and 3-4 assists.

Calm the F*ck Down

My colt was also in action.  His team is missing a few pieces on the offensive end to make a strong championship push.  Like a boa, they just try to squeeze the life out of an opponent and then knock in a goal somewhere along the way.  They won and tied their first two matches, 2-0 and 0-0.  Until game #3 in the tournament, they were on a streak of 7 games where the only goal let in was the fluke slip n’ fall goal in well lubricated Ohio.  Finally, the ultimate champs knocked them out of the tourney with a decisive, scoreless game streak destroying  5-1 victory.

During that game, I was patting myself on the back again for my parenting skills.  My 14 year old, bless his soul, takes great delight in living the Roosevelt proverb, “Speak softly but carry a big stick.”  As left defender, he regularly crushes opponents and sends them spinning to the ground without a word no matter what is said to him.  However, a loud mouthed group of opposing parents was screaming uncontrollably about FOULS the entire game.  When my colt found himself in front of their group, he calmly looked over to the sideline like this…

Did you say something?

 …and said, “Why don’t you calm the fuck down.” 

Me, beaming with parental pride. 

Need help raising kids?  Give me a ring.

Happy trails.