Late into this summer Parker told me he wanted to play soccer.   Not sure where that came from since he has shown no interest in soccer, or anything athletic other than playing smear the deer (the politically correct version of smear the queer) in our backyard with his brother and I, unless you count him running out of the shower jumping on our bed naked and rubbing his bare ass on my pillow, but wether that takes athleticism is up for debate.  Granted, him rubbing his bare ass on my pillow after his shower is preferred as opposed to before his shower, it still isn’t something I encourage, although I can’t help but laugh a little when he does it as I discreetly switch my pillow with Shirley’s.

Reluctantly I signed Parker up for soccer and the first week was not what I had expected.  Parker was the biggest kid on his team and seems relatively quick when stacked up against the other kids his age.  However, in his first game he wanted nothing to do with the ball and showed little interest in trying to score a goal.  My visions of him being the next David Beckham (the only soccer player I know off the top of my head other than Pele) minus the tats and venereal diseases were quickly disposed of after his first game.  However, the following week his team went up against a squad comprised solely of four year olds who were a head shorter than Parker.  All Parker had to do was kick the ball as far as he could and then out run the four year olds to the ball and he was set up for a goal.  Ultimately, he scored multiple goals, and my hopes and dreams for a soccer star were still alive.

Week three was this past Saturday and reality once again set in as we got done with team pictures and discovered who Parker’s team was playing.  First of all, I am not sure why they have team pictures anymore, at lest team pictures with a professional photographer where you have to pay to get actual photos.  Shirley took her own pictures on her phone so if we ever want to commemorate Parker’s soccer season we can go to Walgreens and get our own prints for a fraction of the price.  Secondly, we were instructed by multiple sources to show up a half hour early for the team photo.  Guess who didn’t show up a half hour early for the team photo?  That’s right, his teammates, one kid rolled in at 9:59, one minute prior to game time and I told his mom where the team photo was being taken and she acted like I was speaking in Russian.

As the teams started warming up it was obvious Parker’s team didn’t have the manpower to stick with their opponent and that Karma was going to be a bitch.  The tables were going to be turned on them and the fun they had running rough shod over a heard of four year olds was going to be a distant memory.  However, before the blood bath could commence I noticed a kid warming up with the other team who seemed out of place.  He didn’t have a jersey, and he was about twice the size of the other kids, and not in a particularly good way.  I imagined him to be the type of kid who just shows up at your house uninvited to play with your kids even though your kids don’t really like him and frequently plugs your toilet because he uses too much toilet paper,  the type of kid who when he goes trick or treating sticks his whole hand in the candy dish and takes as many candy bars as he can get his grubby hands on.  As I watched him warm up I saw him kick a soccer ball into the woods and not retrieve it, what a dick!  After a few minutes the kids on the team gathered up and ran towards the goal, this was fine for the kids on the team because they were short and fit under the cross bar, but chubbs didn’t, and went full speed ahead into the metal cross bar, I was fifty feet away and could hear the thud.  He went down immediately and I expected the coach to show some genuine concern.  To my surprise he didn’t, which meant the kid was likely either a step child of the coach or adopted.

With Chubbs on the sideline in concussion protocol it was time to begin the game.  Parker started the game but his coach made a misstep by not having Benjamin in the starting lineup.  Benjamin is hispanic and played soccer the year before so not only is he racially geared toward soccer he also has experience.  Without Benjamin out there the other team scored four straight goals using Parker’s method from the prior week, kicking the ball as far as they can and outrunning their opponent.  Parker sat the second quarter and Benjamin took over for him.  Benjamin scored a goal and generally kept things more under control for Parker’s team.  The unfortunate thing for Benjamin is that he was paired with a kid who completely negated Benjamin’s prowess.  The kid upon being told he was playing immediately crossed his arms and began to cry and held that pose for the entire quarter as he meandered around the field staying at least 30 feet from the action at all times.

Granted, if you read my blog you know my parenting skills are still rounding into form, but if my kid acted like that I would either stop bringing him to soccer or make his mom bring him.  I feel like either way you are sending the appropriate message, if you stop bringing him he realizes the value of being able to behave in a way that allows him to get his way, shaping him into a master manipulator at a young age and likely leading to a career as a politician or an attorney.  If you make his mom bring him the kid realizes at an early age there is usually a way to get out of doing something you don’t want to do, make someone else do it.

Mercifully the game eventually ended and it was snack time.  For most of the kids reminding them that snack time is only a short time off while they are playing is the only way to keep them semi focused on playing soccer.  That week we had signed up for snack as I made my morning cold brew run that morning I was reminded by Shirley it was our turn for snack and to get something healthy.  When I returned from the store Parker asked me what I bought for snack, I responded Skittles and Mountain Dew. (I actually bought Drink Boxes and Cheese crackers as well as peanut butter crackers because one of the kids on the team is a pussy, I mean lactose intolerant, if the particular kid also has a peanut allergy he may as well just kill himself right now).  I was half tempted to not allow the kid who was acting like a four year old (and probably was a four year old) by crying and pouting to have a snack or pour his drink box on his head an crumble up his crackers in the package and then give them to him.  However, I have to substitute coach next week and I wouldn’t want to send the wrong message to my team.