Tempting Fate

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Last night, my son Garrett played in goal for a select US club team against a team from Mexico, Club America.  The game is called an 'international friendly' match.  The first half was exciting and fast, resulting in a 1-0 score, US favor.  Throughout the first half, dark clouds gathered and lightning flashed in the distant hills.  

At halftime, the rain began.  Then, it rained hard, huge driving drops that splashed back upwards from the turf field.  The wind whipped the lukewarm rain under the stadium roof and the rain pounded like a million drums.  Halftime ended and the teams came out onto the field, squinting against the onslaught.   They took their positions and the sky rumbled.  

A flash of lightning lit the pitch. The whistle blew and the action began.  Another flash and zigzagging bolts appeared near the end of the field.  Another whistle and the referees gathered on the sideline, talking and motioning to the sky.  The crowd waited.  The teams gathered in two huddles.

My son, the captain of his team, walked off the field at the beckoning of the referees and coaches.  Shortly, he returned to the team to discuss briefly the decision.  A twenty minute time out to let the lightning pass was declared in the interest of player safety.  As the announcement was made over the public address system, the crowd groaned in disappointment.  A further announcement directed spectators to a nearby gymnasium, again, for safety.  About two thirds of the crowd went inside.  Not my family.  

In typical 'if it's our time, this is gonna be something' fashion, we stayed put, wrapping 89 year old Grandma in a fleece blanket against the driving rain.  We sat on aluminum benches in a steel structure, watching the lightning storm.  My mother-in-law entertained us with stories about a harrowing plane ride around a lightning storm in Texas years ago.  Her play-by-play announcing and urging her seat mate to open his eyes to enjoy the show got her an abrupt, 'Shut up, lady, I am not enjoying this!'

We laughed and joked at the prospect of being struck by lightning.  God and his 'bad/good' list figured into the humor.  It was edgy, bold feeling humor.  Kind of exhilarating.  As refreshing as the wind-whipped rain to the sedate work-a-day soccer fans.  A dose of unexpected youth-infusing adrenaline. 

Eventually, the time out ended and the officials made the decision to call the game at 1-0.  It was disappointing, but not as much so for those of us who had sat out the storm in a slightly dangerous position. Because we had gotten more than the tickets could have foreseeably provided.  We had touched life on the edge, tempting fate with our boldness, allowing a glimpse into a life that addressed survival each day.  It was a heady aura that followed us into the night as we made our way to our warm and dry cars. 

Soccer Mom, Professional Level

My middle child, Garrett, made his professional soccer debut in goal last night for the U23 team in a large city 120 miles from here in a huge commercial stadium.  He played a 4-0 shutout.  It was the first game in a four game U. S. Cup qualifying series.  In one spectacular save, he was kicked in the jaw by one of his own players. His beautiful smile is intact, though.  He said 'I keep my jaw clenched when I dive', which is good advice for life in general. 

It was really something to go to that huge stadium in that big city and wait in line at the entrance gates, knowing my kid would be taking the field there!  I was so nervous.  But like Mack said at the time (he's visiting from Florida), 'This is what he's been preparing for most of his life.'  He reminded me that Garrett made his first save in goal when he was 3 1/2, rushing between the flags to kick a ball out that the goalie on Mack's team would have missed.  The ref made me take him off the field, gave the other team the goal, and Garrett was disgusted.  He said. 'That boy dumb. He not get that ball. I get that ball'.  He's come a long way since then.

George is in red-neck heaven.  He gets to watch his kid play soccer while he himself drinks beer and eats hotdogs!  He has a team hat in camo, and wants to join up with the local 'Army', the swaying, mouthy, singing group of team supporters.  Garrett may have to disown him.

My son is a pro player.  The years of practices, muddy equipment, swampy-smelling little boys in the van getting dropped off all over town, ground rubber pieces throughout the house, and hours at wet cold fields have culminated in this.  Thousands of miles. thousands of hours, tens of thousands of dollars as he advanced through club ball, Olympic Development Program, to high school, to college, and now this.  I am humbled by his dedication and skill.  I am proud of his accomplishments.  I am stunned that it has happened so fast.  It seems that just the other day that he was a little guy, dwarfed by the goalposts and his jersey.  

And, now he is a professional, in every sense of the word.  My heart just forgot to keep up.