Soccer class kicks (my) ass!

This semester I decided to take a soccer class at the university. My foray into kinesiology was motivated by two factors: 1) I couldn’t get into the classes I wanted and 2) I got nothing better to do. I skipped softball because I’m already a master of the sport. Basketball wasn’t going to fly because short white men can’t dunk. I knew if I took yoga I’d probably break something (most likely my back). Soccer felt like the right choice because it’s a game I love and I had nothing to lose.

I haven’t played soccer in about 15 years. Despite its absence, I love soccer–played it throughout the majority of my youth (my father was Italian so it was only natural I learn the family tradition). Many kids played soccer when they’re four or five years old; very few continue playing after the age of 12. Hardly anybody plays in high school. Not only did I play soccer in my late teens, I did so at the expense of other traditional high school activities (such as football, girls, or summer vacation). The last time I played soccer was in high school and I was looking forward to getting on the pitch again.

Back in my heyday, I wasn’t the most talented player on the field. Most kids were faster and stronger than me. Despite my shortcomings, I was a very effective soccer player because I outsmarted opponents, hustled a lot, and learned to play dirty. See, the best way to keep someone from outrunning you is to make sure they’re lying on the ground. Perhaps dirty is too strong of a word; however I was a very physical player. Soccer has this wonderful rule that I took advantage of: pretty much anything is legal as long as you touch the ball. In other words, tripping someone is allowed as long as you’re diving after the ball. And since I played without any fear of getting hurt (when you’re a teenager, you heal fast), I spent a lot of time diving feet-first at the ball (also known as a slide tackle). If someone faked me out with the ball, I simply threw my body at their legs. If there was a defender I couldn’t get past, I dove at him while dribbling the ball. It was a very simple process: take out the legs and you can overcome your enemy. I wasn’t a big fan of throwing elbows because that was illegal; however, I was certainly willing to resort to it if necessary.

Going into the semester, I was a little worried about soccer class because, well, let’s face it: Americans hate soccer. My fear was the class would be filled with guys who spoke Spanish…and me. Since my Spanish is limited to “No hablo espanol,” I would feel like a fish out of water. But as students gathered at the field on the first day of school, I realized my fear wasn’t much of a concern…because 70 percent of the class consisted of petite, blonde females.

My first thought was perhaps this wasn’t the class for me. Hell, I wondered if it was a class for boys (thanks to a paperwork snafu, in high school I somehow was enrolled in and a member of the girls tennis team). Even though I wanted to play soccer, I knew I was gonna feel guilty throwing elbows and tackling girls half my size.

Given the choice of dropping the class or hurting someone, I needed to find a middle ground. So I made a vow to myself: I decided to tone it down and promised to play with less intensity than I was accustomed to. Soccer class might not be what I expected, but there was no need to go for blood when playing against a lesser sex. I knew it would be better if I acted like a gentleman and let the girls play without getting injured or humiliated by my soccer prowess.

School is about education and learnin’ stuff. If I don’t learn anything else this semester, I’ll know this much: these girls are friggin’ good. I was foolish to underestimate them. They’re 19-years old and immediately out of high school. They’ve been playing soccer their whole lives and now have no outlet to play. When I played soccer I was merely a grunt–a bully or enforcer. I physically overpowered players. I didn’t have the agility or quickness to beat them in the traditional sense. I was able to succeed when I was willing to hurt someone. But now that I gotta “take it easy,” I’m getting humiliated out there. These girls are quicker, nimbler, and are able to do things I couldn’tve attempted even in my best days. But that’s not the worst of it. The girls in my class are not only better players than me they’re in much better shape.

It turns out there’s a big difference between “softball shape” and “soccer shape.” In softball, you have to be able to sprint for about 15 seconds–that’s pretty much the extent of physical exertion. But soccer, oh cruel soccer, you hafta be able to run–nonstop–until the game is over or you pass out. Class is 45 minutes and last week I was far closer to passing out than standing upright for the entire period. My lungs felt like they collapsed. My legs ache. Who knew there was this much running in soccer? I played the sport on regular basis for over ten years and I never realized how much running there was in soccer. In softball, I run around the field all the time. In soccer class, I was secretly calling for stretcher.

Needless to say this class is not turning out like I planned. Not only am I getting embarrassed by girls half my size (GIRLS!), there’s also a good chance I might die on the field. Seriously: I coulda sworn I saw buzzards circling me.

I need to rethink my approach. Perhaps I’m going too easy on these dames (mercy is for the weak). Maybe if a level a couple of them or crack someone’s tooth, I’ll be able to feel like I’m doing something out there. It only takes one torn ACL for someone to be afraid of me.

I just hope it’s not mine.