Soccer, it ain't just for the Brits and the Brazilians

Nothing says Fall for my family like a weekend soccer tournment. This is a bit unfortunate for me as I am not particularly fond of the sport, being more of a lax fan myself.

This weekend I am wading through former farmland in Pennsylvania, present site of the prestigious Dillsburg Soccer Tournament, familiar only to those who have paid the money to be in it. My husband (Coach) is coaching my youngest, LB, and her team, the Catonsville Cobras, and is hoping for a screaming victory followed by celebratory Slurpees. LB is mainly focused on the Slurpees.

I square my shoulders and soldier forth, folding and unfolding my camp chair, as I follow our group of 10 year old Peles from field to field as they rack up a few ties and a loss.











                                                     There's a lot of equipment to schlep,

and sitting the sidelines is cold business. Meet my new best friend:

In between games the girls focus only on soccer, discussing strategy and player positions.

The afternoon games are fierce, and the girl meet their foes in new uniforms, hot pink shirts and socks that support breast cancer research.

Coach is a real man, thus not afraid to wear pink.

That man can rock a mismatched pair of pink soccer socks.



I may not love soccer, but I'm learning to appreciate this time with my family more and more, especially as the kids get older. I take a few minutes during a game to block out the sounds of screaming parents and focus on the privilege of watching healthy, happy children run with youthful enthusiasm under a cloudy October sky.

Notice I said learning to appreciate. Coach and LB are camping tonight with some of the other teammates. I plan to nobly support them through dinner before jumping in my car and heading home to heat and a working stove.