Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The Sporting Errors of Kids

So we're back? I say we like I actually contributed last time. I laughed at all that was posted in my name but rarely did I find something to post myself. How about I start this off with the tragedy and triumph of high school football? You only need to watch about the first 2:30 of this video and then kindly tell me what you would say to this kid if you were his parent/coach...



I will leave you with this little fact. When I lived in New Baden, Illinois I played soccer. I was 7 or 9, something like that, and I played up a year and we were really good. In the 3 years I played soccer my team never lost a game. I hated the coach, he worked us to death even though we were elementary kids but in looking back, he was a great coach. I was the center full back and I'll stop bragging, but we kicked ass every Saturday like we got paid to do it. Then I got benched with 2 games to go in the season and it still haunts me. Let me explain:

We were playing and were up 5-0. The forwards and midefeilders were dominating so much that I was basically standing at midfield tracking down clearance attempts and passing them back in. I was literally playing NO DEFENSE, this team sucked huge ass. After a lengthy stretch of no action on my part the other team tries another clear, and the ball comes bouncing right up to me. Boing, Boing, Boing...in waist high bounces...and I catch it. CATCH IT. WITH MY MOTHER FUCKING HANDS.

I promise I was more shocked than anyone else that witnessed it. It was like a sneaky leprechaun had tricked me or we were playing Bayside High and Zack Morris had called 'TIME!' and placed it there whilst I was frozen. Immediately I knew I was in deep shit. Slack-jawed I looked at my coach as I heard a bewildered ref blow a whistle in the background, and coache's red face and moving mouth were surely profanities that should never be heard around little kids playing soccer. I, however, was in a sound vacuum and could only see the 'what a retard' expression on my team's faces. A sub was called for, I sat the bench too distraught to even eat an orange slice.

I asked the coach at the next practice if I was going to get to play that week and and he chortled back a "Fuh huh huuuuuck no son!" and looked at me like I was leper paraplegic. That was my last year of soccer and I began playing hockey the next season. I really feel for this poor kid that spiked the ball. Its going to stick with him forever...