I've been coaching girls club soccer in Topeka, Kansas for the past eight years. In that time, I've coached hundreds of kids, including my favorite team, the Topeka Select Rockets, who I've coached since they were U-9. This year they are freshmen in high school, so instead of playing for me this spring, they're dispersed around town playing for seven different area high schools. I've been hoping to get out and see some of them play, but because of work, apathy, and my U-13 team, I haven't made it happen. That is, until last night...
It's playoff time, and Seaman High is playing Hayden High with the winner getting an invitation to the State tournament. There are three Rockets starting for Seaman as freshmen, while the two Rockets that play for Hayden have been relegated to JV. As the night goes on, I have several "this is your life" moments as what seems like hundreds of former players, parents, etc. come up and say hello. I eventually count up six additional kids that I've coached in the past on the two teams. Nostalgia aside, the decision to sit in the Seaman section was an easy one, since that's who the three Rockets are playing for.
Once the game starts, the first thing I notice is the parents. After years of coaching on the opposite sideline from them, I for the first time fully understand what freaks of nature these people really are. They're all nervous as hell, yelling ridiculous things at their kids and even more ridiculous things at what turned out to be a most excellent referee. They bitch about how the kids on the other team are playing dirty, and just as much, they bitch about how incompetent the kids on their own team are.
As for the action on the field, it starts with a bang with Seaman scoring on a corner kick just two minutes into the game. But, after a few minutes it becomes readily apparent that the best player BY FAR is wearing #5 for Hayden. She is a thing of beauty, rarely losing possession, usually needing just the bare minimum of touches to make spectacular and beautiful plays. I don't know her, but I find myself cheering for her a little bit. For obvious reasons, I don't admit this to the frothing-at-the-mouth Seaman parents I'm surrounded by. By halftime, #5 for Hayden has scored two goals and set up her very average teammates for countless unconverted chances. Halftime score, Hayden 2, Seaman 1.
As the second half gets underway, the action is mostly back and forth in the midfield with minimal scoring chances for either team. Seaman has figured out that they can't let #5 get the ball, and they're appropriately chasing her all over the field. She handles it well, but as you'd suspect isn't as deadly when she's under constant heavy and pressure. Meanwhile, the Seaman parents are becoming more hysterical by the minute. A fat bearded man behind me begins to yell louder and louder. Most of his exclamations make no sense at all from an actual soccer standpoint. I discover that his daughter is playing forward, she's a senior, and he's starting to realize this might be her last game. It's obvious that he believes this is because the rest of the Seaman players are terrible. I hate him.
With ten minutes to go, it's getting bleak for Seaman as they still trail 2-1. I've been sitting next to Hannah, one of my Rockets players from a different high school, and it's become impossible to even carry on the simplest of conversations due to the frenzied state of the Seaman parents. Half of the problem is our rotund and bearded enemy, who I'm starting to suspect might be mentally ill. By this time, my right ear drum is starting to throb from this toolbox's maniacal outbursts. I contemplate moving, but don't. No one else seems to mind, except for Hannah, my Rocket friend. She seems to hate him more than I do, and somehow we sneak in a brief exchange consisting mostly of necessary non-verbals to agree that we're really embarrassed for him, and hope he doesn't have a heart attack before the game ends. Right about this time, his daughter breaks free and has a collision at the top of the box with the Hayden goaltender. The whistle is blown and the goalie is down. After a lengthy break, the keeper is taken off and replaced with a girl that looks like she's just seen a ghost. I mention to the guy next to me that this girl could be in deep trouble.
The next eight minutes go by with out much fanfare, unless you count the actual fans, who as you'd expect are asymptotically approaching retardation. The guy next to me has lost his voice completely. The beard dude is almost in tears he's so angry. The most disturbing thing is how negative they are. They are not cheering, they're heckling, bitching, and whining, but not cheering. I'm anxious to get the hell out of here. Then, with 90 seconds to go, one of my Rockets sends a high arching ball towards the goal. The child of Mr. Beard connects with it at the top of the six and it zings toward the net as the frightened goalie stands on her line and tries to deny the ball with merely her prayers. No luck, game tied 2-2. People are falling out of the stands they're so happy. They're hugging and laughing and saying "I told you so." Hannah and I smile, but are dreading the fact that we might have to sit through two overtimes and a shootout with these heathens.
This crisis is averted just 30 seconds later however, as beard man's daughter steals the ball behind midfield and to fatherly cries of "do it, don't pass it, do it, DO IT!" makes a ridiculous 60 yard Maradona like run through scores of diving panicked Hayden defenders. The petrified back up goaltender never moves as the ball soars into the net for beard's daughter's third goal and a 3-2 Seaman victory. The proverbial chaos ensues. The lunacy of the Seaman fans is in their minds justified. They willed their daughters to victory. I am happy for my Rockets, but secretly dissapointed that their parents have been rewarded for their dispicable behavior.
As the crowd dissipates, I mingle with countless former players and parents. The Seaman players are beaming, I am proud of them, and tell them so. The Hayden players are in tears, and I'm just as proud of them, and tell them so. I learned that I don't like the helpless feeling of just watching my kids play, I don't like sitting with crazy parents, and I don't like seeing one set of my players rejoice at the expense of another group of my players. I know I'm going to have to get used to it though, because despite the idiocy of much of the night, I loved being their to support the kids.
