Tonight was the first soccer game of the new season. After 16 years of retirement, I made my way back onto the field for another round (Cher style). You can imagine how self-conscious I felt; a lot has changed since I was in grade four. The world is a tougher, crueler place. Plus I’m a lot bigger, so I had to get new stuff.
No goals or assists to report, but I was a lot more confident on the field than I thought I would be. That is probably because the opposing team had a woman well into her sixties and a handicapped fellow who looked rather frail; one could say it leveled the playing field (if I may borrow a sports analogy, since I’m an athlete now).
Everyone had a good time. Except the guy on my team who should have signed up for the intermediate division, not the recreational team. Let’s call him Ultra Competitive Guy. Keep in mind, I’m playing in the sort of league where teams are awarded “spirit points”.
Ultra Competitive Guy did not care much about the spirit points, nor did he care about getting in the mature lady’s space to get the ball (and stepping on her foot). I think he yelled at everyone on the field. He was particularly upset that I passed the ball in front of the net: “NO! NO! NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOOOOING?” *fingers in hair* “QUICK PASSES, GUY! PRESSURE! PRESSURE!” I still don’t know what ‘pressure’ means.
Ultra Competitive Guy will have to iron out our differences, but him aside, we had fun and our team was victorious! Go Dusters!