Soccer Saves

In case you didn’t realize from all the Tim Howard memes (not that I’m complaining, I kinda want him to father my children), soccer is finally starting to be more of a “thing.” I am, of course, specifically talking about here in America. We’re a little late to the soccer bandwagon. Of course the majority of us are going to jump back off the wagon, wait four more years, and then climb back on. It’s a bit ridiculous.

Personally, I like soccer. I wish it was more popular here. I’m not saying I don’t like football, because you know I do, but I hate how much people hate on soccer. We used to go to professional soccer games when I was a kid, and I can honestly tell you I enjoyed them more than any time I’ve been talked into watching baseball, hockey, tennis, or golf. And I’m not even talking about watching on tv, but going to an event.

But I’m not here to trash your favorite sport; I’m here to talk about soccer. Back in the day I used to play a little. I don’t really remember why I started playing. With ballet, for example, I specifically remember dying to be a ballerina. Trumpet was an attempt to escape piano lessons since my parents insisted on being musical. But soccer? No idea. It might have been a decision by my parents to give my brother and me some social skills since we were homeschooled at that point. It might have been us asking to play. It doesn’t really matter; the end result was I LOVED IT.

We used to play all year round in various leagues. Winter was the worst simply because it sucked playing indoors, but I’d bet my poor parents appreciated the respite from sitting in the heat all day long. I’m pretty sure at some point I even did some soccer camp thing that involved practicing for literally hours every day for weeks, and I loved that too.

Maybe I needed different glasses...

Still, there were a few things I didn’t like about soccer. I never was very good at hitting the ball with my head. Generally, when I tried, I managed to knock off my glasses. Try being in the middle of a game and having a Velma moment – it sucks. Once I even managed to knock myself out. No brain damage (says me), but I distinctly remember waking up and trying to figure out why I was on the ground and what was happening. I stopped trying to head bunt it for awhile after that.

Another thing that sucked – they generally made us rotate positions. This did nothing but piss me off. Especially when they made me play goalie. The entire reason I like soccer is that my hand-eye coordination is crap. So yeah, let’s put me in the goal to catch/block balls flying at my face. Brilliant. Luckily this didn’t happen too often (lucky both for my team, and for my stress levels), but one of my coaches was very insistent on me playing forward somewhat regularly. This made absolutely no sense to me. I liked playing defense. Why make me play offense when you know I hate it (and trust me, I made sure everyone knew my feelings on the matter)??

One of my biggest life regrets is that I stopped playing soccer. I’ve mentioned before that quitting is one of my worst habits. Soccer is a little odd in that I actually rather support the reasoning behind why I quit. It stopped being fun, and I think you should do what you enjoy. But it wasn’t because of the game itself, but because of people’s reactions to it.

He was adorable, but crazy

If you think I’m crazy, talk to my brother about soccer. It’s getting to almost 20 years since we played, and he will still go on a rant about that championship game they lost because “the refs were bribed.” Seriously, he was a little 8 or 9 year old running around SCREAMING because he was convinced the refs were working for the other team. The sad thing is there were a LOT of people like that. Not my parents, thankfully, but other parents on the team, parents from the other teams, even the other players would all go bat-shit crazy about things. I didn’t like it. While I personally wasn’t getting yelled at too much, I started playing in constant fear that if I did make mistakes, someone would flip out about it.

My coworkers and I were comparing soccer stories as we watched the USA match, and one of the nicest guys there told us about one of his last games as a kid when the other team’s families kept yelling to “take out that little fat boy!” (him being the fact boy). That’s awful, and that’s not even the worst example I could come up with. We can pretend words don’t hurt all we want, but they do, and when you’re a child they shape your perception of yourself. Is it so surprising that he quit that year?

So I understand why I quit, but on the other hand I really wish that I had stuck it out for two main reasons.

1. People are jerks. While it’s appalling that we treat our children this way and I am in no way excusing the behavior, we have to learn to expect it. By continuing to quit activities when they turned stressful and had too many expectations, I merely learned to avoid stress and negativity, not how to actually deal with it. This is why I had no good stress busting habits until in my 20s. 

2. I like how I felt when I played soccer. In a word, I felt empowered. You may not believe this (no one ever does), but I was a defensive TANK. I once managed to even knock my coach down when he tried to get past me. Clearly, it didn’t happen. I was a very aggressive player on defense. I was confident on the field at an age where I otherwise felt awkward and ridiculous. I miss that feeling.

And that is the main moral to this otherwise rambling post. When I think about quitting soccer, I still understand my reasons, but I am ashamed that I let people take away my joy without at least trying to work through it. Don’t give up on what really makes you happy. But don’t expect it to always be easy either. Sometimes we need some growing pain to actually, you know, grow.