Currently at the Matsumoto household, Saturdays are all about soccer. With one game for each boy, the first one starting at 9am, our Saturday mornings must push forward with the precision of the British Navy. Pancakes and cartoons can no longer be enjoyed at a leisurely pace. Hanging out in our pajamas and drinking coffee? Out of the question. Both boys need to fed breakfast, dressed in their uniforms, and drenched in sunscreen in order to be on the road by 8:15.
It is no surprise that “soccer moms” have such a reputation for driving minivans given the shear amount of cargo that needs to be transported to each game. Now driving a minivan or SUV is perfectly reasonable if you have to car around a bag of soccer balls, a couple of small portable goals, or even a half dozen players, but that’s not the case for most parents. We travel with just the “survival” essentials: 2 beach chairs, a backpack, and a smaller cooler–and this is light compared to other spectators. Some fathers need to make multiple trips to empty out the Chevy Tahoe while others use the oversized beach wagon loaded up with toys, blankets, beach umbrellas, snacks, etc. It must be quite a sight at 8:30 in the morning–weary travelers heading over the hill from the parking lot with all our possessions strapped to our backs or behind us in makeshift carts. Like nomadic Bedouins closing the desert, we wonder with our belongings until we find another player wearing the same uniform as Chase.
Chase’s game starts and there’s a reason ESPN doesn’t televise pre-school soccer games. As soon as the whistle blows, it’s a mass of arms and legs flailing up and down the field like an octopus fumbling for a set of car keys. This is swarm ball at its best; somehow the herd acts with one collective consciousness, keeping the 5-year olds encircled around the ball. Eventually the ball lands in the goal. All the parents cheer. Which team scored? It doesn’t matter. Everyone is relieved that something has actually happened. After the goal, the teams are shuttled back to the center circle for the next kick-off. Just as we’re about to restart, a dragonfly floats by and catches everyone’s attention. Next thing you know, both teams are chasing the dragonfly towards the woods leaving the soccer ball behind. It’s the fastest they’ve run all day.
Ryan’s game is next. The field is bigger, the players are taller, and if you look closely you might actually see one player pass to another. The “superstar” of Ryan’s team is a boy named Alejandro. Alejandro is long and lean and runs like the wind. When he stands next to my son on the field he looks like his babysitter. It’s apparent that Alejandro has played form soccer and as a parent it’s fun to watch.
My relationship with Alejandro ends there–as a spectator. But some of the other parents have become more involved with our franchise player. When Alejandro comes out of the game, one father directs hims to sit in the shade. Another brings him water. A third encourages him to shoot with his left foot. If Rocky go this much attention between rounds, he might have won his first bout with Apollo Creed.
For a stretch of the game, Ryan is inserted at goalie. I watch as my son defends the posts with a combination of pride, fear, anxiety, and amusement as he alternates between ninja-like focus and watching a game on the adjacent field. As a goalie, Ryan is all about “style points,” creating maximum drama by waiting until the last possible moment to make a save and then diving furiously at the ball. A slow dribbler dips short of the goal and Ryan jumps on it like a Marine falling on a grenade. No one saves a shot that wasn’t going in like my boy!
Cheering on the boys, I think about all the benefits social science attributes to youth sports–better grades, decreased absenteeism, increased work ethic, etc. Watching a ball roll by Ryan as looks for a ladybug in the grass, I’m sure that’s what’s going on here. Will you see the Matsumoto boys playing in the World Cup someday. Probably not. But there’s a good chance that they’ll have to coordinate and transport their own families to youth soccer down the road. And perhaps because their parents were moderately successful in this capacity, they will be too. Maybe that’s the goal.
