Monday, June 22, 2009
Right now I have an undetermined number of boys in my basement who showed up to watch the U.S. Men's National team take on Brazil's National team in the Confederations Cup. I say undetermined because the game started at 8:30 a.m. and boys started arriving around 1 a.m. to "sleep" over and be up in time for the game. I don't know about any of the rest of you, but it is a rare day when my boys are up before noon when they have no responsibilities. So for an entire gaggle of young men to not only be up, but wide awake and yelling at the TV in the early morning fascinates me. They will emerge from the basement only for bathroom breaks and eventually hunger, although I suspect there are enough chips, pizza, sport drinks, and fruit downstairs to rival a survivalist's storehouse.
I should also mention that the game is being recorded both in the basement and in the family room, so although I am not watching it now, I'll have the pleasure of seeing it replayed at least a dozen times over the next few weeks. I finally "accidently" deleted a World Cup final that had been replayed weekly over the course of two years. I felt no need to sustain the repetition because despite soccer's relative infancy as an American TV sporting event, there are still enough games to fill each 24 hours period without having to rewatch old ones. But my sons don't just play the game; they are students of the game. They can tell anyone who will listen what the latest trades were and for how much coin, who scored and when, what coaches got fired or hired, what uniform contracts each team has, how effective various teams' set plays have been, who got injured, and who just accomplished a particular watermark in the sport.
When they watch soccer, they are like lost explorers who can't see the forest for the trees. They are so busy studying moves, kicks, positioning, and runs that they lose track of time and scores. The aforementioned World Cup final I erased had one ten second moment where Oliver Kahn missed stopping a goal. That particular snippet of the game was replayed at least several hundred if not a thousand times as Bryce studied the goalkeeper's position, reaction, and failure. I doubt the entire city of Chicago uses the frame by frame feature on their remotes as much as our family does. Once the analysis begins on a particular game, strike, or foul, I know I need to find a book to read because I have lost control of the television for a good two hours.
After the U.S. /Brazil game ends I know that the boys in the basement will begin the freeze frame replay of stretches of the game, arguing over every nuanced moment. They will also be reenacting those moments both in the basement and later at the soccer field. They will spend hours trying to reproduce a particular foot move or style of kick. All of them blew off sleep, work, even food to watch the game and to participate in the post-game breakdown. I should also mention that at 1:30 p.m. Egypt takes on Italy, so I expect the basement to be a mix of hot air, sweat, and salsa by dinner time.
I think if I could figure out how to channel this passion for soccer into other ventures I'd win the Nobel Prize for Making Parents' Lives Easier. I know that's not a real award, but they'd create it if I could harness kids' soccer interest into cleaning their bedrooms, finishing homework, doing dishes, and folding laundry. The best I've been able to accomplish is a begrudging agreement to bring up dirty dishes and trash from the basement. I'm working on getting the pair of shorts on the stairs up to the bedroom sometime this month.
Despite messy rooms and laundry piles I am still happy the boys love the game so much. It's definitely an activity the entire family shares in one form or another, although the laundry "form" seems to be singularly mine. While the boys can needle one another into explosive confrontations, soccer has always been the common ground where they meet and communicate. Yesterday Robbie came home from work totally spent just as Bryce was leaving to play a Small-Side game with friends. He asked Robbie to join him, but Robbie pled exhaustion. Twenty minutes later, after a shower, Robbie came downstairs in his soccer gear and drove up to the field to join in having called a friend of his to go as well. Two weeks ago Bryce found a crushed ping pong ball under the couch and he's still kicking it around the floor. Soccer doesn't define the boys because they have so many other interests and dimensions, but soccer definitely provides the spine to their existence. Everything ultimately either emanates from or journeys towards their soccer interest.
The other day I was in the soccer store picking up yet another item of soccer clothing. The place was swarming with kids ordering their uniforms for the coming season. I witnessed every emotion from exasperation to joy within that store. Several of the girls hated the uniform they had to wear, while one little girl put on the uniform and then twirled around with total glee. Some boys were arguing with their moms about the uniform size; moms wanted it bigger to grow into and the boys wanted it tight and fitted. One dad firmly set the top limit he would spend for soccer cleats and then agreed to a slightly more expensive pair. Nearly everyone left with more than the required items. I've been there and done that with the bank statements to prove it. So as I once again paid for a sweatshirt Robbie just had to have and the clerk typed in my phone number from memory, I thanked the stars that if my boys had to have an addiction that it was soccer. Eventually all the parents in that store will do the same. I just remember that I could be watching reruns of "Cops" rather than the U.S. vs. Brazil and grateful that my children aren't the centerpiece of an episode.