Trending
My new favorite spectator sport is soccer as played by 5- and 6-year-olds.
The game is simple, fun, unpredictable -- and free of tedious technical points, such as, say, scoring.
A flock of kids not much taller than their shin guards scramble around a grassy field, kinda kick a ball mostly in the general direction of a net that's loosely guarded by a goalie who might be watching an entirely different game on the next field over. Or a butterfly. It's hard to tell.
No matter. The kids have a blast.
So do I.
The game doesn't tax my ignorance of the rules. It's “See the ball; kick the ball into the net." Or possibly into the woods behind the net. Kids from both teams practically stumble over each other for the fun of chasing the ball into the woods.
It's an awesome game.
There's probably a great spiritual truth to be drawn from this. I have no idea what it is. I'm too relaxed in my lawn chair soaking in the uncomplicated joy.
I first took interest in soccer last season when my grandson was one of the 5-year-olds. Now Sebastian is 6, and my daughter is the team coach.
Melissa is an awesome coach. She cheers them every step of the way, even when she has to tell them they're running the wrong direction.
Coaches also set defense, wipe noses, tell the defense not to be so set that they don't step in front of the ball, encourage kids to pass to teammates, high-five and hug. And make sure the same number of kids who ran into the woods for the ball come back out.
She never gets upset at lack of skills, daydreaming or missed shots. Neither do the kids.
It's my kind of game.
Several decades ago, I played on the eighth- and ninth-grade basketball teams at Rowe Junior High School. I'd dribble drive to the basket, clutch at the ball, leap and try to lay it in.
Except I no longer had the ball. I'd clutched air. In fact, I might not have actually been touching the ball when I dribbled.
I soared toward the hoop. The ball rolled off the floor and bumped into the gym wall -- our version of the woods.
Never once have I heard a 6-year-old ridicule a teammate who kicks at a ball and whiffs, which is often. But you can bet that just about every one of my junior high teams jeered.
When it came to sports, they provided the skills. I provided the amusement.
I suspect if I faced any of my old teammates today, they'd note I'm a lot closer to their league now. Not because my talent advance. It's because time has a way of taking us all back to the basics.
"How many times … huff, huff … have we been up and down the court?" I'd pant.
"Up once and … wheeze, wheeze … down once. Wanna take a break?" the old teammate would groan.
"Sure. … gasp … How are your grandkids?"
"Great! Let me show you their pictures. I keep them right here in gym bag between the knee replacement warranty and the defibrillator."
"What say we pack it in and go watch the grands play soccer?"
"Good plan."
Soccer for 6-year-olds. It's a great game.
— Kick the ball around with Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook. Find his latest novel, "Bash and the Chocolate Milk Cows," at bookstores.