My first soccer season was around 1978. I was about 8 years old. I played for the red YMCA team. There was also a blue and green team. That's right, 3 teams.
Sam just finished his first season of YMCA soccer at age 3. Sam played for the Purple Birds. There were dozens of teams in his co-ed, under 6 league.
Michael Burkett was the head coach and I was the assistant coach, The head coach gets to run around on the field. The assistant coach has to stand behind the goal and stay off of the field.
It took a lot of self discipline not to run on the field and physically position the kids by picking them up and moving them around. Instead, I had to yell commands at them, which doesn't work because all the parents are yelling and even if you yell loudest (no problem for me), the kids just stop playing and turn around and look at you.
The league was supposed to be for 4 and 5-year-olds, we had four 3-year-olds on the team. Sam averaged one kick of the ball every other game. At the beginning of the final game, coach Burkett told me to alternate Sam and Marshall (another 3-year-old) in and out of the game depending on their attention span. As soon as one of them sat down and started playing in the dirt, I would bring the other one in.
Then, near the end of the first half, Sam actually ran up and cleared the ball while playing defense. We all cheered. The second half he actually started kicking the ball and trying. Two or three times he actually dribbled the ball. Who cares that he dribbled the wrong direction, he was trying. Sam dribbled straight out of bounds, grabbed the ball and then attempted to throw it in to himself. So what if Michael had to knock the ball out of Sam's hands, Sam was trying.
Can't wait till spring season.
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1 comment:
Nice juxtaposition of this family friendly piece after the butt-floss energy drink post. The difference between Saturday and Sunday for the suburban married guy!
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