this entry will be updated later, so keep your shirt on
August 15, 2003, 3:52 pm
Today is August 15th.
I am not on the soccer field.
My father fondly recalls the day when, just shy of my 10th birthday, I tromped downstairs to announce to my parents that I was going to play soccer. My dad, who had spent the past seven years sitting through hours-long dance recitals where I had danced everything from ballet to Scottish dancing, did a loud cheer and hugged me. No longer would our Saturday mornings be spent in a stuffy office and me breaking my back on a balance bar; they would be spent on a soccer field.
My coach was an athletic older African-American man named Mr. Les...he had some notoriety in the greater Baltimore area as he is Baltimore Oriole great Al Bumbrey's older brother. From the first day, I had to admit that not only was I the absolute worst player on the field, but I probably asked more questions than anyone else there. The other girls had played together forever; I was a simp who not only would have to stay in elementary school when the others had moved to middle school, but would also attend a completely different high school.
I did make friends, but it wasn't because I was the best player on the team, no sir. The second year I played I showed a marked improvement and actually was allowed to start at halfback; we won the county championship in 1989 and 1990. We reached the end of our team's history when we all scuttled off to high school in the fall of 1992.
I made the JV team and had to face them; they were all on JV at their school. The beat us 7-0.
My sophomore year I was on varsity. They beat us 8-0.
My junior year I was the captain of the varsity team. We beat them 2-0. It was one of the greatest nights of my life; they were pissed. We lost to them in the state regional finals 3-1. To this day, that team at my high school is the winningest girls soccer team ever.
My senior year of high school, my old teammates won the County Soccer championship and lost the State title by a goal. On their championship video that my old soccer coach made, there is a still of eleven of us...they're all in blue and white, and me, in red and white.
I loved playing soccer because of the grass and the goals and the air being sucked from my lungs. And because out of any sport I played, I got really good at it. I was a three-time high school team captain, MVP, and an All-county soccer player; had I stayed with my old team I doubt I would have stood out as much.
Coaching is harder than playing because you have to understand the game enough to tell people what to do; I just always acted on instinct. I loved working with my girls, and I had a lot of fun coaching (as elusive my win was), but I know I don't belong out there now. It's too hot and I'm too old and out of shape for that kind of thing.
But there are times when I catch a whiff of that undeniable scent that says "FALL SOCCER": it is the crackle of stadium lights and fresh cut grass; autumn leaves and the sound of a ball smacking a goal post. It is soccer moms selling t-shirts and pretzels and god-knows-what-else to buy a team new warm-ups. I do miss those things, but not enough to go back.
In other news, my gorgeous gay boyfriend Mangus has made a sketch of me that makes me feel like a million bucks. I am all kinds of sexy, leaning on a pillow, and my boobs and hips are fantastic. GO AND WORSHIP HIM HERE. (The sketch will be available on 12%Beer as soon as it is finished. Goddamn though, I look HOT.)
Many happy birthday wishes to your favorite Baltimore teacher and mine, Epiphany. Now I have to go get dressed so I can look hot in the real world for Friday drinks with Amy.
*kisses*