Michael, Raging Coach, Sonny
I am coaching my twin boys in soccer this fall. This is the third season I’ve coached micro soccer, the first two times were with my daughter.
Let’s cut right to the chase: coaching Connie was a blast; coaching the boys may be the death of me.
More specifically: coaching Sonny may be the death of me.
I totally lost my cool today with him, and almost ejected him off the field. I’m not sure any coach has ever done that in micro soccer, let alone his own son.
But the season is young, and I think we’ll find our groove. One thing I’ll say about Sonny: I don’t have to remind him to aggressively go after the ball. He’s like a battle ram, crashing into the swarm of kindergartners who follow the ball around the field.
For those of you keeping track, Sonny and I still do battle more often than any of the other children. I think I’ve come to realize why, however. He and I are terribly alike. When he and I go toe to toe, the forces of our personalities clash with tremendous strength. If we can figure out how to get along better, I think we’ll be best buds. Have to keep working on that…
***
Tonight two titans met on the soccer field; Two coaches, sworn mortal enemies since two seasons ago. I led the Dalmatians onto the field, and he the Chipmunks. Never before were two creatures so destined for combat.
Let’s recap.
Chewbacca On A Squirrel Fighting Nazis, by gamefan84.
Two years ago, this novice soccer coach of the Daffy Ducks went up against a rival I will call The Enemy. This coach was cocky. Trouble was, he had the chops to back it up. I, lacking his confidence, had to pace off the field several times before placing the cones. He had it set up immediately. I began practice clumsily, doing drills taken from a coaching 101 website. He seemed to be running a training camp, his players more like tiny professional players moving in stylized slow motion.
His kids were already doing corner kicks while my kids picked daisies. Man, did I feel over my head. In the end, his team slaughtered mine, and we fell back to gather our thoughts, our fruit rollups and Capri Suns, and hang our heads in shame.
Last year, as coach of the Elks, we met again with the same result. I came to realize and accept that this balding but well-toned dad was simply the better warrior.
Until today. As I walked from my minivan to the field tonight my eyes came to rest on our opponents, and there he stood, the King of the Chipmunks. Would today be our day of victory? Would the Dalmatians feast on the innards of these pesky rodents, and dance with fury in our eyes, howling and barking at the moon with our faces wet with their blood?
No, friends. We were punished. Clobbered. The Chipmunks took the hoses to us and left us to lay like whimpering dogs in the cleat-torn grass.
Again, my enemy has bested me.
Song of the Day: “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt. 1,” by The Flaming Lips.
Filed under: bad daddy, raging thoughts | Tagged: battle, micros, soccer | Leave a Comment »
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