Poosey Digest:  Who’s playing it smart?

Greetings from Poosey.

It was just about as tight a game as you’d want to witness. The two teams had been battling it out for almost two hours. The score was tied with almost a minute remaining. Then something mighty remarkable happened. Two players on the blue team joined hands and skipped down the field together. If you’ve not attended a peewee soccer league game then a valuable part of your life is missing.

Bad behavior has become the norm in major league sports as hardly a game takes place without some sort of unprofessional ugliness. Pitchers toss 90 mph fastballs at the heads of batters crowding the plate then both benches jump onto the field in a slugfest, hockey players are hired because of their ability to duke it out on the ice, the tantrums of professional tennis players have become legendary, dinky little NFL referees are left to break up fights between highly-paid behemoths on the football field, and even the “non-contact sport” of professional basketball often sees bench-clearing melees. It seems that the more an athlete is paid the more right he or she seems to have to stop the game with an outburst.

Then there’s soccer for little kids. I’ll admit that what I know about the game of soccer could be easily stuffed under a gnat’s fingernail, but when our neighbor invited Herb and me to witness a Saturday morning game where her two youngest daughters were playing I could hardly resist.

I knew that we were in for an unusual contest when I heard the coach giving his final instructions before the game started. Cute as the little gals were, I didn’t see a one of them paying any attention to what the poor guy was saying. Two girls were busy braiding the hair of a little darling while at least a half dozen were busy adjusting their shorts, and nearly all of the team were too busy looking at their parents in the stands to hear what Mr. Coach was telling them.

I think that the problem is that the length of an average peewee soccer game is about three times the span of a little girl’s attention. Too much running up and down the field with little or no scoring taking place takes a toll on their ability to focus. The game hadn’t been going for five minutes when I looked down into the opposing team’s goal to see the darling little goalie carefully picking every dandelion in her territory. As the action of the game got closer and closer her coach began shouting to get the young gardener’s attention and soon the cries of her mother could be heard from the stands across the field. Still, the little goalie kept picking flowers, perhaps thinking that the appearance of one’s goal line was of more importance than the final score. Although it’s unusual to see flowers growing in an ice field I couldn’t help but wonder if a few daisies or petunias scattered about the Chicago Blackhawks goal net might take some of the ugly edge off professional hockey.

By the time our game was half over the soccer match had turned instead into a sort of Fourth of July Parade. Each time our little Poosey Dragons would run by the home team stands a great majority of them would wave at their admiring parents who were watching the entire contest through the half-inch viewing slot of a cell phone. One little gal waved every time she passed Mom and Dad … for the entire game. Would the Chicago Cubs’ pitching staff be less likely to brush back offending batters if we’d place their mothers right behind home plate and simply ask them to wave at their sons between pitches? After all, who could throw a bean ball with his mother looking on?

And, of course, the two little gals running down the field holding hands was hands-down the cutest sight of the day. The soccer ball was being kicked around somewhere out on the field. Parents were shouting. The coach was politely screaming his head off, but the two tiny darlings could have cared less. They were having fun skipping down the field without a worry in their heads. I sat there thinking to myself … the coach is unhappy and the parents were flustered. But the two little players in blue shirts and striped shorts were having the time of their lives. Who was playing it smart? Perhaps it’s too much to ask the Packers and Steelers to skip down the field together holding hands at the final buzzer, but maybe they’re not being paid to be happy. And if this works, we might try it on Congress.

You ever ’round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.