Shameless Self-Promotion, Part I
By: Sean |
6 Comments
You’re sitting down to watch your favorite club on television. You’ve got your adult malted beverage(s). You’ve got your starchy snack carbohydrates, be it your pretzels or chips. You click the television on to Setanta or Sky Sports or Fox Soccer Channel and what is the first thing you see before the match? Besides the ubiquitous hair loss treatment advertisements, of course.
You see the pre-match teaser video. It’s usually dramatic, often starting in slow motion with black and white shots of defeat. Then, like a sports car hitting fourth gear, it explodes with high-speed splashes of 1080i hi-def color: Goals and goal celebrations and monster slide tackles. 83% of the time it features Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana” or, if it was last year, some techno-remix of Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida” as the soundtrack. It exists for one reason and one reason only: To get you totally pumped up for the next two hours of televised awesomeness.
Not too long ago I was watching one of those pre-match teaser videos, totally caught up in the rush, and I thought to myself, “Seanny, you should totally make one of those videos for your team, Rangers.”
“But Seanny,” I then thought to myself. “You don’t know anything about choreography. You’re tone deaf. And the only video soccer footage you have on your Mac that doesn’t make you nauseous when you watch it comes from two matches last season…and one of those was a loss.”
“Don’t be a wuss, Seanny. You know you want to do it. All the cool teams are doing it.”
“But–”
“Do it! Do it! Do it!”
(Please tell me you have losing battles with your subconscious like this, too.)
So…three hours + iMovie + your own recreational footy team = YouTube immortality. It isn’t Scorsese, but what the hell.
Enjoy.
Category: Orange Slices and Aspirin
Psycho Soccer Mama Dramas
By: Sean | 2 Comments
Appropriately Subtitled: The Post Where You Can Grouse About All of the Irrational Adults at Your Kid’s Soccer Game.
[Editor's Note: If you are reading this and you know that I have coached one of your kids--all two of you--know that this post is NOT about you. I have been very lucky in that since I first draped a coach's whistle around my neck in 2005, I have been blissfully free of the crazy. So while any characters in this work are not necessarily fictitious, they ain't about you, so to speak. Honest.]
As parents, we all want our kids to succeed. Period. In school, we want them to get good grades and play nicely with others. At home, we want them to learn responsibility, pick up after themselves, and play nicely with others. On the weekends, within the confines of the little orange cones of their little soccer fields, we want them to spread out, score some goals, and play nicely with others. So why is it then when a bunch of kids are running around kicking the ball, it is the parents on the sideline who can get so out of line? Certainly youth soccer is not alone in this phenomenon. A quick Google search of “crazy sports parents” takes about 0.24 seconds to pull up 23,000,000 hits and the listed activities run the gamut of youth recreations: Pop Warner football, baseball, gymnastics, hockey…and our beloved soccer. Run a separate search for “crazy soccer parents” and it takes 0.12 seconds to pull up over 370,000 hits, including YouTube clips. (Lovely, by the way.) You’ve got your basic screaming at your own kid. Screaming at your kid’s teammates. Screaming at your kid’s opposition’s teammates. Ranting at the coach. Ranting at other parents. Ranting at the other coach’s parents. Arguing with the referee. Pushing any combination of coaches, parents, or officials. Then we jump to felony assault and battery and choking.
So what’s up with that?
I don’t have a psychology degree but I surmise there are a handful of reasons why parental passions are so apt to become enflamed on the sidelines…absolutely none of which excuses any of the aforementioned behaviors.
Category: Orange Slices and Aspirin“This Year is Going to be Different!”
By: Sean | 1 Comment
There are still bits of wrapping paper carelessly strewn about the house. The boughs on the grand fir are becoming brittle and dry and, in one massive overnight exchange, all six aisles of Christmas decorations and seasonal items at the local department store were replaced with a tripartite display of New Year’s, Super Bowl, and Valentine’s Day-themed merchandise. The last row of December dates on my calendar is slowing being filled up with scrawled black “X”s and 2009 is soon to be measured in hours, not days. As the old year finally passes away and 2010 is announced in a spray of confetti, champagne and the herald’s cry of “Auld Lang Syne”, I think it is only natural to look ahead and declare that “this year is going to be different!”
For many, that means making a resolution or two…and since a substantial part of my life revolves around watching, playing, coaching, occasionally blogging about, recovering from injuries caused by and obsessing about the Beautiful Game, resolving to improve my general “soccerosity” seems like a totally legitimate endeavor. So how is this year going to be different? This is how this year is going to be different:
1. My men’s team, Rangers, is going to get our divisional trophy back.
2. Beat rivals No Subs en route to resolution #1.
3. Finish the book I’ve been writing…which, ironically, is also about recreational soccer.
I figure that’s a good start and even if I only go two out of three, that would make for an awesome 2010.
How about you, my fellow Weekend Warriors? How is this year going to be different? I’d love to hear your footballing New Year’s resolutions…
Category: Orange Slices and AspirinMerry Christmas from the Weekend Warrior
By: Sean | Add Comments
To anybody who has ever laced up the boots and felt the butterflies before a match…
To anybody who has ever shrieked with joy when your five year old first kicked the ball between the cones…
To anybody who secretly logged online to watch the Champion’s League draw when you should have been working…
To anybody who ever pretended their orange slice was a mouthpiece at halftime…
To anybody who knows the name of every single player in your favorite La Liga club but doesn’t know a single player on your local Major League Baseball team…
To anybody who stayed out a little longer kicking the ball around with your daughter when you should have been back at the office…
To anybody who ever hugged the perfect stranger sitting next to you after your club just netted…
To anybody who can make “GOAL!” a ten syllable word…
Merry Christmas and best wishes for a happy, healthy and minimally ibuprofened New Year from me, my friggin’ awesome wife, and daughter Kiki. Thanks for reading and commenting.
And now, having written two posts within a week for the first time in eight or nine months, I feel a little dizzy and must go crash on the sofa. Where were those rum balls again…?
Category: Orange Slices and AspirinYour Personal 2009 Highlight Reel…and a Picture of a Cute Kitty
By: Sean | 3 Comments
So…ahem. Long time, no see. Ah…come here often?
Oh, hell. I’ll spare you the excuses for not posting since mid-October. Suffice to say, all work and a lot of play doesn’t necessarily make Sean a dull boy, but they do eat into his blogging time. Apologies. In my defense, all I have to offer is this picture of a cute kitty we adopted from a rescue shelter about six hours ago. His name is probably going to be Maximilian. Maybe Eclipse. If he ever learns how to do a bicycle kick, I’ll let you know.
Figure 1: Cute Kitty
Speaking of bicycle kicks and other soccer-related things, this is a recreational soccer blog and it is nearing the end of the year, so that can only mean one thing: End of the Year Review! Or, as I would prefer to call it…
Your Personal 2009 Highlight Reel. (Imagine that last sentence resounding with a booming explosion and a long reverberating echo.)
What did you do on the pitch this year with your team that was worthy of a Top Ten nod? Did the team that you coach on Saturdays pull off a brilliant upset or crush your pub league rival? Did you score a goal so beautiful it deserved a name? Did you make a pilgrimage to the San Siro or Anfield or Ochilview Park and see your favorite club for the first time? When the techno-music fueled soundtrack of your personal soccer highlight reel thumps to its dramatic electronica finish, what two or three moments would reign supreme?
In the interest of getting this discussion started, I would offer the following…
3. Playing soccer with the Portland Timbers. The Rose City’s professional football club hosted a Father’s Day Fantasy Camp back in June for all of us local wanna-bes and ardent supporters and the resulting several hours was some of the most fun I’ve had in a long time. (I even got two posts out of it!) Scrimmaging with several of the guys I cheered for all season–including a perfect give-and-go with Scot Thompson–was fantastic and icing my penalty kick at PGE Park was the stuff of middle-age dreams.
2. Kiki scores the most awesome goal of her eight year old life. I helped coach my daughter Kiki’s U10 Select team this fall and they did very well. The Soccer Rockers went 7-1 for the season with a substantial goal differential and, to get them prepared for next year against much tougher competition, the head coach opted to enter them in a higher division for a weekend end-of-the-season tournament. What an eye-opener. These teams were much more skilled and organized and the Soccer Rockers went three and out. Matter of fact, the Rockers only had scored twice in the entire tournament. Kiki had them both of them but the first one, on a freezing, wet night under the lights, was a true gem. The Rockers center midfielder–we’ll call her “Makenna”–gets the ball and gallops into the opposition’s half. She slots a wonderful diagonal pass to the left and catches Kiki in mid-stride, whose first touch actually takes the ball toward the corner and away from the woodwork. Just inside their box, with every parent on our side screaming “GO! GO! GO!”, she blasts a left footed rocket across the goal and into the far back corner of the net. Their keeper dives for the save but it is just beyond her reach and she sprawls to the muddy grass, totally beaten. As the assistant coach, I tried really hard all season to be equally supportive and restrained when we netted, but this one was too much. I spazzed out like I just won the lottery. She looked over, beaming, and I hope when I’m old and gray I still remember the little smirk on her face as she jogged back for the restart.
1. Equalizer. 91st Minute. My men’s team, Rangers, played short against a squad that was just behind us in the table back in late October. We had nine at kick-off and eventually mustered eleven, but you probably know how tough it is to Alamo up against another team…especially when the team we played was similarly short-sided for our first meeting in September. They had an axe to grind and were eager to get back at us for the 7-3 drubbing we gave them five weeks earlier. Down 0-2 in the 75th, our center midfielder got one back and I ran into the net to collect the ball for a fast restart. We threw everything we had at these guys for the final fifteen minutes. I had a shot clang off the crossbar in the 85th. Several corners in the 88th. It looked destined for a 1-2 loss when, deep into recreational extra time, our fullback took the apparent last kick of the match from a free kick around midfield. It found the head of a middie and bounded between their last defenders. Me and a forward–we’ll call him “Bob Switzer”–ran onto it as the fullback tried to clear it. I got there a half-second faster and punched it past the keeper into the net. The hysterical, multi-syllabic vocalization I made really can’t be translated into English, but it went something like “YYYYYYYEEEAHAHAHAAHAHEAHAHAH!!!!!!” Then, when I ran out of oxygen as I ran towards the rest of the team, I took another breath and screamed it again. I eventually bro-hugged, high-fived, or “Dude!-d” every guy on my team during the resulting celebration. It was so good I almost started hyperventilating. I don’t score often and when I do, they are usually consolation goals on the wrong side of a romp or “salt-in-the-wound” goals against short-sided teams where it is poor form to celebrate, so having a goal actually count for something was, well, pretty damn cool.
How about you, Weekend Warriors? What’s on Your Personal 2009 Highlight Reel? I’ve already got the techno soundtrack ready to go…
Category: Orange Slices and AspirinHow to be a Manager
By: Sean | Add Comments
The notion first hits you about two seconds after you are told by your manager you are not going to start your team’s adult league soccer match…again. Who does he think he is, anyway? you silently grouse. If I were to start…up front…and they would get me the ball…to my feet…regularly…when I’m onside, I would totally score for this team. But you forget about it, you “take one for the team”, and you ride the pine–or more likely, the horribly vandalized aluminum bench that serves as the reserves seating for your local pitch–and wait your turn. Maybe a few weeks later the thought returns, probably after you’ve been forced to play left back even though you can only muster ten guys for this game. Make me play defense…what’s up with that? I should be up front! It gnaws at you, like a low grade headache or a bug bite on your honor you can’t fully scratch. I should totally be the manager. It’s so obvious. You could instinctively pick the perfect formation every week. You could play up front and bag a hat trick at least every other week. Of course!
But how? Well, running an adult recreational soccer team isn’t always about the fame, glory, money, power and mad sex it may seem to be…though it can be. (Ha!) Sure, it may seem like a pretty sweet gig, especially when you are doing tequila body shots off your club’s drunken WAGs following another successful rout of your rivals, but organizing fifteen to eighteen adults with or without jobs, families, children, vacation plans, and niggling injuries that get worse as you get older to be at the same field at the same time on the same date to play a full-contact sport for an hour and a half a week for two months a season can be a tricky thing.
Your friend Sean at the Weekend Warrior wants to help. He really does want you to start every weekend and play forward, too. Sometimes the best way to do that is just to be really, really good at forward, but unless your squad plays a 1-1-8, not everybody is going to be a striker. Sometimes the best way to do that is to be the Manager. The Boss. The Gaffer. Coach. Skipper. Let me offer you some humble suggestions to make all of your managerial/scoring/tequila body shot WAG dreams come true.
Category: Orange Slices and AspirinThe Weekend Warrior Turns 1!
By: Sean | 2 Comments
Happy birthday to The Offside Weekend Warrior, which officially turns one year old today! As blogs grow up and get older, they start to mature and begin to develop certain…characteristics…that might have previously been missing. Their tone and voice may get a little deeper. They might start growing links and video clips in places that were previously bare. A maturing blog might notice that their participles no longer dangle but are frequently rock hard in the morning. All of these are the normal signs of a growing blog–even a recreational football blog–and although the postings can be a little irregular and unreliable, especially during the high seasons of fall and spring soccer, deep down all any blog just wants is to be loved. Is that so wrong?
Thanks to all of the readers who have clicked on the site and left a comment in the last year. It has been a lot of fun sharing my random soccer anecdotes and hearing all about yours. I’ll endeavor to be more diligent with regular posting, but with televised footy on four channels (including HD!) most weekends, I sometimes get a little distracted. Thanks also to the fine folks here at The Offside for allowing me to share some of their website storage space for what I believe is the only site on here devoted to amateur soccer, fandom, some coaching nuggets, SMILFs, and all the Weekend Warriors who live and breathe the Beautiful Game. It’s not Shakespeare and it’s not the World Cup, but it still matters, you know?
I welcome any post ideas or topics you might have…for example, what it’s like when your recreational men’s team goes back to play a match in your home town against a team with several of your former high school teammates that you haven’t seen in 20+ years…and then you get your ass handed to you with an Old School beat down.
In front of your mommy, who hasn’t seen you play in many years.
D’oh.
Again, thanks for reading. Cheers!
Category: Orange Slices and AspirinCountdown to a New Season
By: Sean | 3 Comments
10 …weeks since the last match of your previous recreational soccer season. Your weekends have been curiously devoid of anticipation and the local park kick-around, while enjoyable, just doesn’t scratch the itch, so to speak. You genuinely find yourself missing the regular Sunday rush of competitive league play.
9 …days on vacation. No soccer. At all. Your ankles don’t ache for once when you get out of bed and the left knee doesn’t pop when you go up stairs two at a time anymore, but too many Long Island Ice Teas found a happy home in your belly during your time off. Your soccer shorts fit a little tighter around the waistband than you remember.
8 …new teams in your division when the upcoming league schedule is published. It is a little easier to visualize yourself on a pitch against a team that has a name, sure, but what the hell kind of skills does a team called “Stud Muffins FC” really have, anyway?
7 …days before Match Day One. You realize in exactly one week, at exactly this very time, you will be making overlapping runs, going to ground, and gasping for breath as a 22 year old kid tries to repeatedly nutmeg you. And it will be awesome.
6 …P.M., three days before the weekend. Only seven members of your team show up for the last pre-season practice. You work on corner kicks for fifteen minutes and then scrimmage on small goals until you get kicked off the field by a City-sanctioned coed kickball league.
5 …new players on your roster, including a former semi-professional midfielder and a Brazilian striker who only goes by a single name. These two players alone should ensure at least a .500 season.
4 …socks in the bottom of your sports bag that match your team’s uniform. One of them didn’t get washed after last season. Two others have holes in the heel, but you are sure that you scored a game winning goal in at least one of the four socks, so you pull the least odorous lucky garments on for the hundredth time and leave for the field.
3 …cell phone calls from your team, confirming the match details. Is it Parkwood Field #2 or Woodfield Park #12? Is kick-off at 1:00 p.m. or do we have to be there at 1:00 p.m. to set up the nets? Do you have my jersey from last season, because I can’t seem to find it?
2 …hours before kick-off and you are lugging the old corner flags and net bag out of the trunk of your car. It smells of dried mud and turf and sweat and synthetic leather and menthol muscle rub and for the briefest of moments it is the most glorious smell in the world.
1 …minute to go before kick-off. Your heart starts to beat just a little faster and a familiar rush of exhilaration and uncertainty flashes through you. You are five years old again in your first jamboree. You are starting with the varsity high school team for the very first time. And you are a middle-aged adult, ankles taped almost to the point of immobility, drunk on Gatorade and pumped to the recommended daily dosage of ibuprofen to get you through another ninety minutes of pub league football. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
The referee looks down at his watch, motions to the keepers, and puts the whistle to his lips.
TWEET!
To all my fellow Weekend Warriors anxiously awaiting the start of your respective recreational soccer leagues this autumn, I bid you all good fortunes on the pitch and a safe season. Good luck!
Category: Orange Slices and AspirinHeaven or Las Vegas: Another CYOE Post
By: Sean | Add Comments
It has been a while since we last had a Weekend Warrior “Choose Your Own Ending” Post, Seanny’s very own rip-off of one his favorite adolescent book series. The inaugural effort, February 2nd’s “The Wall”, challenged readers to decide whether or not they would stand in a defensive wall while an angry, aggrieved shooter (also known as Princess) launched a vengeful free kick. Did you form up or did you flinch? Our sophomore installment picks up the action about a year later. Fair readers, please enjoy the Weekend Warrior CYOE: “Heaven or Las Vegas”…
You’ve been counting down the days since your last encounter with the Princess. It was only a year ago that your perfectly good season got derailed with a challenge on their wiry, prissy midfielder. The resulting free kick he took resulted in the only blemish on an otherwise perfect season and left you shamed and/or medically incapacitated. You’ve been practicing hard with the squad for the last eleven months. They’ve forgiven you for abandoning them/flinching/getting ejected/stopping the match to call for an ambulance [Editor's note: Hey, it's hard writing for four different plot threads!] and you have vowed to not disappoint them when the rematch finally arrived. Ripping off the most recent day from your “365 Days of Soccer Quotes” desk calendar, you nod approvingly at your scribbled red letters on tomorrow’s page: SATURDAY = 2:00 VS. KICKERS FC & PRINCESS!!!
Your cell rings. You are still thinking about how awesome it will be to go studs up into your nemesis–making sure you make contact with the ball first, of course–and don’t pay attention to the number on the display before flipping it open. Big mistake. It’s your boss, Mr. Jones. “Just confirming that you are still going to help the office with the volunteer service project at the Daisy Hill Homeless Puppy Shelter tomorrow afternoon,” he says. What?! That was supposed to be next Saturday! You frantically search through the calendar and see it clearly written in for the following weekend. You tell your boss this and he laughs. “That’s a good one! I specifically mentioned it in the staff meeting yesterday. Ha!” You smack your head into the wall in frustration. D’oh! Why do I always fall asleep in the morning meeting?!
Call waiting beeps. You look at the number. It is your favorite niece, Kasey, a promising eight year old soccer prodigy. She loves to call and talk about the Beautiful Game with her uncle. Saved from answering Mr. Jones! You tell your boss you have to take this call and mercifully, thankfully, answer Kasey’s line. Her voice is all sunshine and sweetness. “Hi, Uncle! I want to make sure you are going to be at my soccer jamboree tomorrow afternoon at 2:00 to help coach.” What?! That was supposed to be on Sunday! You tell your favorite niece and you can almost hear the joy drain away from her voice. “No, it is Saturday, not Sunday. Does that mean you won’t be able to coach us?” You think you hear a sniffle. “I reminded you last weekend when we were playing video games,” she whines. You smack your head into the wall in frustration again. D’oh! Why do I always tune people out when I play Super Mario Kart?!
The phone beeps again. This time it’s a text from Eve, your girlfriend. What now? You look at the display: “Happy bday stud! Im tking u 2 Vegas on Sat. no need 2 pack u wont need clothes just stamina ;o) ” OK, in all fairness, you had no idea about that one. You smack your head against the wall a third time in frustration. D’oh!
So. What is it going to be?
If you decide that nothing is more important than a rematch with the Princess, scroll down to Ending “A”.
If you decide that you can’t let the kids down and coach at the soccer jamboree, scroll down to Ending “B”.
If you decide to honor your volunteer commitment at the homeless puppy shelter, scroll down to Ending “C”.
A birthday weekend in Vegas with my open-minded/former gymnast girlfriend? Duh. Scroll down to Ending “D”.
Ending “A”: You’ve waited too long to miss another chance to avenge last year. Soccer > Life. You explain to little Kasey that you’re going to be a little late but that you’ll be there by her second match. She is a little disappointed, but soon forgets about it when you promise to buy her some Hannah Montana lip gloss. Your boss ends up being surprisingly cool with it, too, as he once was a college goalkeeper. “Plus,” he adds, “Don’t tell anybody, but I hate puppies.” You play brilliantly against the Princess, who subs out after twenty minutes with a calf pull. Eve is pissed you stood her up and goes to Vegas by herself where she hooks up with an Elvis impersonator named Julio. The End.
Ending “B”: Begrudgingly, you show up at the jamboree. While your heart is elsewhere, Kasey’s team wins first place and you retain Most Favorite Uncle status. Your boss is less enthusiastic and asks you to come in the following three weekends to work some “last minute” overtime. Your club only fields ten players and loses 0-3. Eve is pissed you stood her up and goes to Vegas by herself where she hooks up with a showgirl named Julia. The End.
Ending “C”: In these tough economic times, you have to keep face in front of the boss. You go to the Daisy Hill Homeless Puppy Shelter and put in a eight hour shift. You get pooped on twice, bitten once, and fleas. But you do keep your job. Your niece loves puppies and stops by after her team loses all of their matches, eventually adopting a mouth-breathing pug named “Joey Barton”. Your team plays to a goalless draw but Princess never showed up, so whatever. Eve is pissed you stood her up and goes to Vegas by herself where she hooks up with a showgirl named Julia and an Elvis impersonator named Julio. The End.
Ending “D”: Your team, your boss, and your niece are all pissed you stood them up. Your squad loses 0-1 with Princess scoring the winner in extra time. Kasey is so distraught you “thought she was bad at soccer” that she quits the sport and becomes a cheerleader. Your boss says nothing but for some reason you get transfered to your company’s branch office in [insert the name of some place you really hate where they don't play footy]. However, you do stay the night at the Bellagio with Eve and a showgirl named Julia. Everything is unspeakably awesome until you forget your safe word and the EMTs are called, but as you know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas… The End.
Category: Orange Slices and Aspirin“And This One Time, At Soccer Camp…”
By: Sean | 1 Comment
Nothing says August to me like soccer camp.
All of the local soccer fields start to take on new life after months of relative neglect. The first coach with a ball bag to arrive is like chum to the dozens, maybe hundreds of little camper sharks that arrive soon thereafter and tear into the cones and number four balls in a frantic football frenzy. Stretches turn into laps around the pitch. Laps around the pitch turn into juggling and juggling turns into dribbling, passing, and shooting drills. At some point, future little stars will emerge and just as surely, the two or three problem children that inevitably show up will be asked to sit on the sidelines for a timeout. It is wonderful and chaotic and reassuring, all played out in (what feels like) the hottest time of the year.
Growing up, I think I only went to maybe two camps during high school and alas, I have no epic adventures to report…certainly nothing coming close to Band Camp from American Pie. Oh, Alyson Hannigan, why couldn’t you have been a holding midfielder instead of a flutist? I would have said your name. The day camps I participated in were competently run and I definitely gained more from the experience than not, but beyond the illustrated booklet of soccer-playing mice I got from Werner Quies and a nice compliment from the late soccer legend Clive Charles for beating two much taller defenders in the air for a header, I don’t have much left from soccer camp as a participant.
How about you, Weekend Warriors? What is your best soccer camp memory, experience, or story? Ever have a pro show you how to do a sick trick that you actually used later on? Go to a residency camp and find yourself in a situation you never would have imagined? Ever been a coach at a camp with Lil’ Damien the Antichrist? After two consecutive really long posts, I’m hoping you have some anecdotes of your own to share.
Unless your soccer camp anecdote involves sticking a flute soccer ball pump in your…oh, never mind…
Category: Orange Slices and Aspirin
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