My Life As A French Film #12: Saturday Morning Youth League Soccer Game

March 15, 2011

Go Colton! Hustle! Get the ball!

How has it come to this? By what means have I found myself here, in this place? The sun. The sun is piercing my brain.

Go Colton! Get the ball! Hustle! Let’s go, Gingersnaps!

You meet someone, and though you have little in common the ensnarement of familiarity pulls you ever forward. And when this child was in the womb, and when this child entered the world, bloody and squalling, did we think of this? Could we have imagined this?

That’s okay, Dylan! You’re okay. It’s just some grass. It comes right off, see? Now head back out there. You don’t want to play anymore? You want a juicebox? You want me to hold you?

And I cannot help but feel that all of us here are doing some grave disservice. To ourselves. To these, our charges. To our country, to the world. Are they playing youth league soccer in India? In Brazil? In China? They play soccer, yes, but it is under-developed nation soccer. A more virulent, rough and tumble soccer. There are no shoes or juiceboxes in Brazil soccer, in India soccer.

Don’t worry, Caden! Nobody’s losing. You’re not losing. You’re winning. Everyone’s winning! Yay!

I wonder if I were to slowly strangulate one of my fellow parents here, perhaps the one sitting next to me, would everyone refuse to acknowledge that that was what was happening? How far does their insistence on unbalancing the universe extend? Could I kill? Could I do that?

Madison? Did you have an accident? Do you want me to come get you? Do you want to go to the car and get a change of clothes? Do you want mommy to come with you? Madison? It’s okay honey. Accidents happen. It’s okay. What do we say? People can have accidents and still be perfect. Who’s perfect, Madison? You are. You.

kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill.

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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }

1 Bent over Beckham March 16, 2011 at 7:51 pm

The Dino’s first game is at 9:00 in the a.m. on field #4. Tristan’s mother is bringing the after game snacks.

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2 Bent Over Beckham March 19, 2011 at 8:41 pm

Dino’s fell to the Little Monsters like 8-4, (not supposed to keep score, but who doesn’t) Two of those came courtesy of Ethan, who kicked it in the wrong freakin’ goal. What the f. I can understand one, but two. What the f. And Easton, what the f’ son? Get in the f’ing game dude. There were girls on that team. GIRLS, dude! What the f’ man? You kick the f’ing ball, you run. Man, what the hell was up? Tristan, you’re a asskicking machine man, asskicking machine. Caden, is that running? What the f’ man, what the f’.

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