After last Saturday and Sunday's soccer whirlwind, wrapping up both boys' seasons with 2 games each, Team WestEnders breathed a collective sigh of impending relaxation, and prepared to welcome the first sport-free weekend in quite a while. But wait, not so fast...there's still the Post-Season Celebration to attend. What's that you say? "It's just a party, what's the big deal?" Au contraire, my friends! When our dedicated, enthusiastic (overgrown 10-year old...and I mean that in a 100% admiring way) Coach throws a get-together, it involves a Parent vs. Kids No-Holds-Barred-Grudge Match--what? oh, of course I mean "friendly contest"--at a local indoor SportsPlex...followed by cake.
Fortunately for us old...er folks, we started out with Riley's U10 Hornets on Saturday evening. We stretched, we warmed up, we felt confident that we could totally take those...scrawny little guys that came up to (maybe) our waists. Before the contest, Coach gathered the adults for a pep-talk: "Take it easy on them, and when it's all over, they'll have more goals than us" he sternly admonished (with a knowing grin--jeez, you'd think he's aware that some of us have...shall we say a "competitive streak"? I mean, not ME, certainly...) And the whole thing was a blast, I tell ya. I played field hockey for decades, which is similar in terms of player-positions and strategy (minus the big wooden stick, obviously), so I enjoyed the heck out of myself getting to run around and kick a ball (off the wall, no less) without being called for a foul. In the end, the munchkins racked up a respectable 7-5 victory...and everyone had earned their snack. (Incidentally, that's my kind of fitness program: work up a good sweat, and earn yourself some dessert!)
However, some of us faced yet another challenge: Derek's formidable U12 Radioactives on Sunday night. And I'm not ashamed to admit that the prospect of going head-to-head against these boys filled me with no small amount of trepidation. Some of them are already almost as tall as me (although I still outweigh them--for the moment). Many of them race around on feet that are bigger than mine. Most of them run much faster than me (I can run for quite a while...just not...quickly). ALL of them demonstrate enormously-better ball-handling skills than I do. And most importantly, NONE of them will accept losing a Survival-of-the-Fittest-Battle (dang it, "friendly...contest") against their Moms and Dads. Funny, Coach didn't feel it necessary to give the "play nicely" speech to the Grownup Squad before the first whistle. Perhaps he's acutely aware of the well-honed Killer Instinct young boys exhibit when given opportunity (and permission) to pummel their parents on the playing field. And right from the opening kick, this game proved much less...civilized...than yesterday's match. There was (good-natured) trash-talking, there was (lighthearted) shoving, there was no quarter expected or given by either team. And if I had to sum up the experience? So. Much. F-U-N! In the end, we fought to a satisfying 4-4 tie. (More critically, at least to me: I performed acceptably well and did not embarrass myself in front of my offspring. This time.)
I like to think that we parents approach this annual ritual with an eyes-wide-open attitude. We know perfectly well that very soon--probably next year, in fact--at least our older sons are going to permanently cross that threshold where they're bigger, and stronger, and faster than us, and there'll be no looking back from that point on. (Because we are only going to get older and slower! Darn it!) So for one more year, we savored the even outcome...and treated ourselves to some well-deserved extra cake!
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