Ruminations of an Old Goat

Hercules had his twelve labors and so did I. Mine began with a phone call which, like a fool, I answered.

"Hello?" I said.

"May I speak to Henry Vogel, please?" said the man on the other end.

"Speaking," I replied with that sinking feeling you get when you're sure you're speaking to a telemarketer.

"I'm calling from CASL [Capital Area Soccer League]. Soccer practice is about to start but the coach for your son's team was transferred to a new job in Atlanta. We're looking for parents of players to fill in as coach for this season."

Okay, it wasn't a telemarketer. Over the following six years, there would be times when I would fervently wish it had been. That's because my reply was, "Yes, I'll volunteer to coach."

This was recreational league, after all, where the rules specified equal playing time for all players, regardless of ability or skill. It seemed like it would be a lark, a way to be more involved with the team and the Boy. And much of the time it was that. On the other hand, one thing you learn quickly when you're a volunteer coach for your son is that your son doesn't treat you the way the other players do. To them, I was Coach Henry, the guy who set the line-up and made the substitutions, the guy who ran practices and was totally in charge of just how much of practice would be fun and how much would be drills. You know how your children seem to behave better when they're visiting a friend's house than when they're at home? Well, everyone else's kids behave better while at soccer practice, too.

But my kid? To him, I was Dad. Just because I was coaching didn't mean he had to treat me any differently than he would at home. That meant arguments when I set drills the Boy didn't want to do, complaints when I subbed him out of a game too quickly or not quickly enough, and other generally irritating behavior. It's my guilty secret that I took solace when I saw the children of other coaches behaving the same as the Boy.

Our soccer seasons last eight games and there are two for each school year, fall and spring. After coaching that first year, I told CASL that I was glad I'd been able to help when they needed a coach, but that I really wasn't that good of a coach. I told them I was going to step aside and let another parent, one with more soccer knowledge and skill, take over. Apparently, the soccer league only hunted around for coaches when the teams and schedule were already set if a coach discovered he couldn't fulfill his commitment. Since I was telling them this at the end of the spring season, they told me the team would be broken up and the players parceled out to the remaining teams. I didn't want to be the person responsible for breaking up a team of kids who had played together for more than two years! In other words, I agreed to keep coaching until I could find someone to take over for me.

Do you have any idea just how many parents have both the time and inclination to coach a youth soccer team? So many that I spent the next five years coaching the team. I did have a couple of parents who helped out at practice, one of whom even agreed to be head coach for a year provided I stayed on as assistant coach. That was it.

It took me a while to figure out why none of the other parents stepped up to take over as coach. It wasn't my vast knowledge of soccer nor my all the wins we racked up. I played a little intramural soccer in college and knew the basic rules, nothing more. And wins? Well, we always managed one or two every season but only posted three winning seasons among the twelve I coached. No, it wasn't my coaching skills that kept the parents from stepping forward. It was that, with a handful of exceptions, their children were happy with me as their coach because they had fun being on the team.

I let them cut up a bit during practice and didn't spend every minute of practice making them run boring drills. Before games, I told them that if they gave me their best effort, I would be satisfied. I'd watch the kids go out and give me their best and we'd have more fun losing 6 - 1 than the other team did winning by that score. I had kids come to the team having voluntarily left teams that routinely won three quarters of their games. These were kids who were good players and who played hard, yet left their old team because the coach or the other players would criticize every mistake. Everyone likes to win, but the "win at all costs" attitude found on some teams was ridiculous. Some of the coaches had obviously forgotten that "recreational league" was supposed to be fun.

My single most memorable moment as a coach came right after one of those overly competitive teams had kicked the crap out of us. I think the final score was in the neighborhood of 11 - 2, but I'm not sure. The kids were all busy grabbing their post-game snacks when an elderly couple walked up to me. It turned out they were the grandparents of a kid who had scored five goals on us by himself. It seems they came to all of his games and, over the years, had formed certain opinions of the various coaches. They told me all of that before telling me that I was a wonderful coach because I let my kids have fun and pointed out the good things each player had done.

It was moments like that and the wordless compliments the parents paid to me each season when they selected to have their child return to my team during the registration process that kept me coaching. That, and keeping the same team going for the Boy. But with the kids entering high school in the fall, rec league organization changes. Teams are no longer composed of players from the same age group, as they have been up to this point. My team and all of the teams we've played against for years will be disbanded, the players placed into a pool and then randomly assigned to new teams. The team my son has been part of since he was six will be no more. Being part of that team was extremely important to him. In the fall he won't be able to be part of that team, so he won't be playing next season.

Last Saturday, my team took the field for the last time. With temperatures nearing ninety degrees, with no wind and less shade, we faced off against a team that beat us 6 - 1 earlier in the season. We fell behind 2 - 0 in the first half and then 3 - 1 in the second half. But my kids rallied for a 3 - 3 tie and a final season record of 1 - 6 - 1 (so, yes, the tie felt like a win to us). And that was it. After six years, twelve seasons, and ninety-six games, I walked off the soccer field for the last time, my twelve labors at an end. Then the Boy and I went for a celebratory ice cream cone.