The next level

So, always before, my kids have played in the sort of sports leagues where you show up, pay a registration fee, and the kids are randomly assigned to a team, which is almost always coached by a volunteer dad or two. A little fresh air, a little exercise, snacks (which are the most important part of all, don’t you know that?) and if things go well, they learn a few things about whatever sport it is they’re playing.

For now, the sport of choice for my kids is soccer. This makes me a little bit sad, because soccer did not become immensely popular until AFTER I was young, which means I know nothing about the sport. I don’t know a sweeper from a keeper from a stopper from a striker, and I have no clue about the rules or regulations. I have no suggestions about how to help my kids get any better, and the one and only time I tried to practice outside with them I tripped while dribbling and fell flat on my face, in a style reminiscent of an America’s Funniest Home Videos moment. So pretty much, comic relief is all I’m good for.

I felt even more frustrated when we moved here and had to learn our way around a new soccer league. When Kellen wanted to sign up for spring soccer, I had no clue about the difference between a recreational team, traveling rec, academy, or competitive. I just sent in a registration form, and he wound up on a rec team with really great kids. We had casual, laid-back fun … just like we liked it. Except, they only won one game the entire season and he didn’t really learn anything or improve. But hey, snacks were good, so he was happy.

However, for this fall, I was told that he is too old to continue in that division and would have to move up. The coach I talked to at soccer camp a few weeks ago suggested he try out for a competitive team, simply because those teams are put together after a tryout, and he wouldn’t need to “find” a team to play on. As the mom of a “new” kid in the league, the prospect of cold-calling a bunch of volunteer dads and asking if they have a spot on their already put-together team for my son pretty much made me break out in hives …. So I suggested trying out for a competitive team to Kellen. Much to my relief, he agreed.

According to the league website, there would be two competitive tryouts. The first was last Thursday night, and we planned to go, but things just got hectic. We had been busy all week, and Kellen was tired, and he had piano and we barely had time to get across town, and we were meeting friends for dinner …… blah blah. Since there was a second tryout listed for Saturday morning, we decided to wait and go to that one instead.

Imagine my disappointment when I showed up with him Saturday morning, and found out that the tryout was actually two parts: Thursday evening AND Saturday morning. We had missed it. The coach suggested Kellen could try out just the one day, but unfortunately it was raining. As long as the lightening sensor rod-light-thingy at the complex center was blinking, which it was, no one would be allowed on the field. The coach told me both teams (Team A and Team B) had been pretty much put together on Thursday night, and the Saturday practice was just to put the finishing touches on the teams. He offered to take our name and number and let us come back to the first practice, so they could at least take a look at Kellen and see if they had any spots still left open.

I was bummed. Really bummed, on Kellen’s behalf. And a little annoyed, to be honest, that the two-part tryout wasn’t better explained on the website. Not that Kellen is some outstanding, shining star player … he’s not. Nobody points and laughs, either, but I’ll admit I was excited at the thought he might get selected for a competitive team, one with a paid coach, and trainer, and really start to improve in his skills. Now, he already had one strike against him by missing the first tryout, and it looked like thanks to the weather, he wouldn’t even get a chance.

Suddenly, the sun came out. The blink-y lightening rod thing stopped blinking, and the boys, most of who had already been placed on one of the two teams, took the field. And as I sat in my van and watched the boys, I knew we had blown our chance by missing the first day of tryouts. These boys were already comfortable together, and already knew what the coaches wanted them to do. And I got more and more upset, and discouraged, and annoyed, the longer I sat there. “It’s not fair!” I wanted to say. How are new league members supposed to know the ins and outs of how teams are formed? I can even admit that at that point, I was basically pouting. I could tell by watching that Kellen wasn’t as good as some of the other boys … better than several, but not all. And the other boys had a definite advantage in that they all seemed to know one another, and would shout a team-mates name before making a pass. And I sat there and just got crankier and crankier that we had missed out due to our “newbie” status. (still pouting at that point.)

Just then, a dad walked over to his son, who was playing goalie. And in front of all the other parents, he started berating his son for not doing his goal kicks properly, and not having a good form. And the dad was sort of gesturing with his arms, and getting upset, and finally said, really loudly, “You just need to remember how important these tryouts are if you want to get picked for a team!” And the boy took a defensive stance and sounded exasperated and frustrated when he said, “I know, Dad!”

And in that instant I realized how ugly I was acting, and stopped pouting. Who gives a shit if Kellen gets picked for a team? This is supposed to be FUN, no matter what age the kids are. Even if yes, the skill level is getting a little more competitive, I refuse to be one of those parents who wants it more than my kid does. More specifically, I don’t ever want to be *that* dad, and take it personally. If Kellen didn’t get picked, so be it. He could play for a church league, or we’d find some other recreational league. But in that instant, my attitude did a complete reversal. Whatever happened, would happen, and we were going to Sonic afterwards to buy a chocolate shake and celebrate the fact he tried out at all.

A few minutes later, the team assistant walked over to my van, smiling. “Coach wants to offer your son a spot on the “B” team”, she said. “You can think about it, because it’s a pretty big commitment. Fall soccer, spring soccer, indoor arena soccer in the winter, and trainer fees every month. That’s in addition to registration fees, practice uniforms, and game uniforms.”

“No need to think about it,” I said, smiling from ear to ear, “We’re in.”

“Good,” she replied, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “My son’s on the B team too, and we’ve got all the fun, laid back parents. It’s going to be a great year.” And I filled out the registration form, wrote her a check, and she walked off.

A few minutes later the tryouts ended. Kellen came to the van, noticeably dejected. He managed to wait until he got inside before starting to cry. Not big, puffy crybaby tears, but the kind of 10-year old boy tears that squeeze out from under tightly clenched eyelids … the “I’m trying really hard not to cry” kind of crying.

“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s wrong? Didn’t you have fun?” I asked.

“I didn’t get picked,” he said in a small voice, “Coach didn’t ask me to be on the team. He called me over to the bleachers, and asked if I wanted to be on his team, but then he never said anything else to me, so that means I didn’t get picked.”

“Kellen,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement, “You DID get picked! They came over and talked to me … you’re on one of the teams!”

Instead of being pleased, or surprised, he was still upset. “I don’t think I want to play with those boys,” he said, “they’re too rough, and they take it too seriously. They want to win no matter what.”

And I sat there for a second, and realized how very much alike my son and I are. He is not an aggressive, no-holds-barred, leave-it-all-on-the-field kind of kid. He likes the sport; he enjoys playing. And he'll be the first to tell you it's a lot more fun when you win. But if he accidentally knocks a competitor down, he wants to extend a hand to help them back up. If he accidentally falls down himself, he wants to be able to laugh about it before getting back up. He still wants the snacks after the game. Yes, there’s something to be admired about kids who are committed, determined, and competitive. But I also think there’s something to be admired about kids who still think having fun is a top priority.

And I took a few moments to explain to my son what it means to be on a “B” team --- how the boys are still good, and want to get better, and will work really hard to improve, but don’t have a win-at-all-costs mentality. And Kellen smiled, and seemed very relieved.

I think it’s going to be a perfect fit for our family. And I couldn’t be happier.