1/8/2015

When David was about four years old, we started to go to the Waltham Y(MCA) for indoor soccer.  For a half hour the kids would play six-on-six on half of a basketball court (a heavy curtain was pulled across the half-court line).  Every week there would be ten or eleven goals scored in the game,  all by David.  After the third week of this, I said to David on the way  home “David, maybe sometimes instead of shooting you could pass the ball to one of your teammates so that they could score a goal too.”  I felt that I had said this in the most nonjudgmental, non-blaming way possible.

For the rest of his long soccer career David did not take another shot on goal.

From this experience I learned the scary amount of power parents potentially wield over their kids’ lives, intentionally or not.

COACHING ADVENTURES

For age 7 6×6 town soccer I was David’s coach.  One early Saturday morning before a home game we were having a practice and doing drills.  Specifically, we were trying to come up with a good corner kick play.  The field was larger than our usual, so even Jeff, one of our stronger kickers, could not reach the goal mouth.  I devised a play in which Jeff would pass his corner kick to David at the 18-foot line, and then David would make a short cross in front of Jeff’s brother Chris, who had a big (and accurate) foot.  This play I thought was brilliant except for one thing: Jeff refused to pass the ball to David, and kept trying to get the ball to his brother.

After multiple explanations, I finally decided to take matters into my own hands, and play defense on Jeff.  By blocking off the path to Chris,  I figured that I could make Jeff pass it to David.  Unfortunately, I kept getting faked out by Jeff and he was able to kick it toward Chris.  As I was lunging side to side in my defensive effort, I suddenly rolled over my ankle with all of my weight (I honestly do not remember which one–both of my ankles are terrible) and had the most excruciating pain that I have ever experienced.  I looked down with horror and literally saw my foot hanging off the side of my leg.

The EMT’s came and stopped when they looked at my foot.  How were they going to splint this?  Finally one brave soul pulled it gently toward its rightful place and they were able to get it into a wide inflatable splint.

By the time I got to the ER I had no more pain.  Later I learned that this was because the dislocated foot was compressing the tibial nerve, the large nerve which serves the bottom of the foot (and more).  This became an orthopedic emergency, and I had the dislocation reduced under spinal anesthesia.  But that’s another story.

THE OFFSIDES CALL

At one of David’s seventh grade town games, the referee didn’t show up.  I was the coach of David’s team, and I loved to ref and show off my knowledge of the rules of the game.  So I volunteered to ref the game, so that we would not have to disappoint the many kids and parents who had come, especially on the other team, which was playing at home.

Reffing on a full-sized field turned out to be harder than I thought.  Specifically, I had to stay near the level of the ball on the field to catch any offsides violations.  This required lots of running, and by the end of the game I was bushed.

The game was hard-fought and, with a minute to go, was a 1-1 tie.  Suddenly the opposing striker broke free and took a short pass from an inside, brought the ball up and scored the winning goal.  Except…that he was offside by a full step, potentially nullifying the goal.  I looked over at the home side and saw the parents and kids rejoicing, jostling the winning striker and pouring Gatorade on his head.  At that moment I knew that I, a visiting parent first and substitute ref second, was not going to overturn the goal.  The goal stood and the hometeam won 2-1.

On the way home David and I were quiet.  Finally, he asked me one question: “Hey Dad, that kid was offsides, wasn’t he?”  “Yes, he was.”  We drove the rest of the way home in silence, but I knew from David’s reaction that he understood.

DUCK WALK

I was such an enthusiastic (read: obsessed) soccer dad that I attended all of David’s preseason practices at the beginning of ninth grade.  The practices began with three days of drills and scrimmaging, followed by the assignment of the kids into Varsity, JV, and Thirds. Having played in prep school and college, I knew that David was a good player and should easily make the JV.  I secretly held out hope that he might make the Varsity, which was almost unheard of for a freshman.

David played well in the scrimmages, but had one weakness: he didn’t like to head the ball.  He had probably learned that from me; I didn’t like to head the ball myself, and I never encouraged him to either.  Otherwise, David played solidly in every way.  Meanwhile, I chatted up the coaches, Andy, Bill, and Harry, a teacher.

When the assignments were given out, David was not on the Varsity or the JV, but was placed on the Thirds.  I was very disappointed, but David took it without a complaint.  I tried to follow his lead but inside I was seething, and it ate me up.  Why had David been excluded in this way?  Was this racial discrimination?  I couldn’t let it go.

Being on the Thirds had a few hidden advantages.  For one thing, David and another underrated classmate, Max, were elected co-captains of the team.  Secondly, the coaches recruited members of the lower teams for games, so David got a JV jersey and got to play on gameday for the JV.

But the best thing was David’s coach Steve Rafellini, an entrepeneur and ex-All American collegiate player from Villanova.  Steve was new to the school and an unknown quantity, so despite his credentials he was assigned to the Thirds. (Kind of like David…)  Steve had been a candidate for the New England Revolution team when he blew out his ACL and had to retire.

Anyway, about a week into the season, Steve approached me on the sideline and said, “You know, David is really a good player.”  I looked at him.  He went on “He’s got great ball skills, and he may be fastest player in the whole program.  I don’t know what the coaches were looking at when they assigned him.  I’m sorry I didn’t have a vote.”

I told David about our conversation.  “I’m having fun with the Thirds” was all he said.  In any case, playing on both the Thirds and JV games gave him plenty of playing time.

David made the JV the next two years, and was recruited to play on the Varsity games as well.  Finally his senior year he made the Varsity, and was able to concentrate on one set of games.  By this time he was also universally recognized as being the fastest player in the school.  His favorite play was, as a defender, to let his opponent pass him near midfield and bring the ball up into the penalty area, and then to swoop back at breakneck speed and break up the impending scoring play.  When he did this, his teammates would give each other high fives and scream with delight.

David finished his prep school career as one of the most respected members of the varsity team.  One day I ran into his coach Harry.  “Good season, eh coach?”

“Yes, it was a good season.  Hey, Mr. Koh, I owe you an apology, or I guess David.  For some reason it took us a long time to realize how good a soccer player he was.  And also, your son is freakin’ fast!”

“Why do you think it took so long?”

“I don’t know.  It might be the way he runs.”

“What do you mean?”

“He runs with his toes pointed outward, a little like a duck.  He doesn’t look like he’s going fast.”

As I walked away I reflected on the conversation.  David had been discriminated against but not because of his race or religion, but because he walked a little like a duck.  On such bases were decisions made.  Welcome to the world.

Through all of this, David carried himself with dignity.  He always tried his hardest, and accepted the results and the consequences.  When he made the Varsity, he was the same player who had played on the Thirds.  It didn’t make him better or worse.  The key thing was that he could play to the best of his ability and compete at a high level.  He has done so to this day.

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