Soccer Start-Up

I'm not the soccer type. I've never played, except in school phys ed class, and then only under duress. So it's no wonder I felt like a fish out of water at my sons' first soccer game last week.

I understand the basics of the game: Use only your feet. Try to get the ball into the other team's net while simultaneously preventing them from kicking it into yours. Yell "Gooooooaaaaaaallllll" for at least 20 seconds if the ball, in fact, gets kicked into the correct net. Play your vuvuzela to cheer for the good guys.

My kids' knowledge, however, is far more sophisticated. From the moment they picked up their uniforms, my kindergartner and first-grader channeled all-stars from Pelé to Beckham as they practiced their dribbles, passes and shots on goal. We did have some drama when the little guy couldn't get his shin guards off and commenced a meltdown that ranked with the tantrums of the pros. He persevered and finally freed his legs, but I was glad this little episode occurred at home rather than on the field, or he might have been the only Milton Town Soccer player to get a penalty before he even began to play.

The day of the game was bright, sunny and pleasantly cool. Each of my sons donned his yellow t-shirt, and we all piled into the van and headed for Mary C. Lane Playground.

We arrived with two minutes to spare, but hadn't factored searching for a parking spot into our travel time. There were at least 400 cars parked in the driveway, on the grass, and all the way up Randolph Avenue, almost to Center Street. Who knew there were so many 5- and 6-year-old soccer players in Milton? My husband dropped us off and we made our way toward the other yellow shirts.

The boys' coach helped them line up and do some shooting drills. My first-grader was focused, but my kindergartner kept finding friends on the other team as they honed their listening skills with a game of "red light, green light."

Soon our teenaged referee arrived, iPhone in hand, and the game began. It was a four-on-four match, with players rotating in and out every few minutes. The rules included no score-keeping, but that didn't prevent each team from tallying the goals, which came fast and furious. Highlights included some effective drives downfield by a couple of key players, and some less-effective passes and shots. My favorite play was a spectacular catch when a player threw the ball from out-of-bounds. This, of course, necessitated a do-over and a reminder about the prohibition against using hands.

Halftime came as a welcome break, and the kids devoured orange slices as they rested in the shade. Most players were getting tired in the second half, some choosing to hang back from the action even as their coaches and parents shouted encouragement from the sidelines. My kindergartner took to skipping downfield instead of running, and the first-grader decided on his own to play defense, figuring there was less running that way.

Soon it was time for high-fives all around. The kids had played hard, and learned a little about teamwork and pacing. I'd learned to remember water bottles for the boys and a chair for the sidelines. Even among the ranks of enthusiastic parents, however, my vuvuzela was too much. Next time I'll bring a kazoo.