Zoey played organized soccer for the first time on Saturday (as opposed to the usual disorganized soccer, which consists of Zoey and I standing at opposite ends of our hallway, kicking a rubber Dora ball back and forth). As the regular readers of this site (all three of them) know, we signed Zoey up for soccer awhile ago, only to have the YMCA drop the ball (pun intended).
So I went online and found a nearby soccer league for children under four. However, there were two big problems with this league:
- the league was already one game into the season and the site emphatically stated that no late applicants would be accepted
- Zoey was too young to play in the league (albeit only by a month)
On Saturday morning, Zoey woke up all excited. I was a little apprehensive. I know what you're thinking: You big jerk. She's playing youth soccer, for God's sake. At this age, it's all about the kids having fun, not whether they win or lose. You're probably one of those guys that rushes the ref if there's a call against your child. I'm not. I was just a little worried because Zoey's view of soccer consisted of us kicking a ball down our hallway; unless they were to play the game in someone's home, I was concerned she wouldn't know what to do. I would've liked for her to attend a practice session with a coach before playing in an actual game. I really wanted to buy her a soccer goal the evening before, but Ella put a stop to the insanity. It's not like I would've had her out there until 2:00 AM practicing or anything.
Yeah, I worry way too much. Have I mentioned I've already started researching colleges for her?
In her league, they play three on three. The game is played in quarters. Parents can actually be on the field with the children, holding their hands if need be. Yeah, I know I'm giving you way more information than you ever wanted about Zoey's soccer league. It's called foreshadowing.
Zoey entered the game at the start of the second quarter. When her team lined up in the center to kick the ball (kick off? I don't know. I'm not up on my soccer terminology.), Zoey just stood there after one of her teammates kicked the ball. They dribbled the ball down the field while Zoey kept her statuesque stance. Finally, a light bulb went off, and she charged after the ball. But by that time, the other team had control. She actually kicked the ball twice before all hell broke loose.
All six kids were within a five-foot perimeter of one another. A girl on the other team emerged from the congestion and dribbled the ball down the field and scored a goal. I looked at Zoey and noticed she was bawling. Not crying. Bawling. We figured she had gotten kicked during the fight for control of the ball. The coach went over to her to see if everything was okay. She continued to bawl. And then she started screaming, "MOMMMMMMMYYYYYY!!!"
So Ella went out to the field and took her to the sideline. She continued crying. And crying. And crying. She cried the entire game. The coach tried to coax her back to the game, but she was not interested. Ella offered to go on the field with her and hold her hand. No way. She. Was. Done.
After the game, we celebrated her first soccer game by taking her for ice cream. I was concerned she didn't really like playing soccer and didn't want to push her into playing soccer if she wasn't interested. So I began my interrogation.
"Did you have fun?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Do you like soccer?"
"Yes, Daddy. I get to play again tomorrow." Which was wrong, of course. Unless she was referring to Dora Hallway Soccer™.
"Why were you crying?"
"Because that girl scored a goal."
Christ. Barely three years old and already this competitive? Maybe we should've signed her up for piano lessons instead.
