The Game Plan

On the way to soccer this morning I asked my son what his game plan was. Essentially it was two pronged.

“I’m gonna eat TWO hot dogs!” he told me. I’m not sure he’s totally clued up on why we give up our Saturday mornings.

As usual this morning there was the traditional tussle between myself and Tracey to decide who had to jump out of bed to take Master7 to his game. Tracey’s a higher belt than me (my yellow vs her green tip) so I haven’t won the right to stay home yet this season (but I’ve been watching Kung Fu Panda a bit lately and I’m hopeful the tide is about to turn in my favour).

At least I only have the one game to make it to this year. Last year we tried to encourage a couple of our girls to play, but it didn’t go so well. Miss5 just walked around tapping the ball with her foot saying, “this is boring,” while I’m not sure by the end of the season Miss8 had worked out what the ball was even there for.

Once I’ve showered and dressed and found a car park I generally enjoy myself watching my little man race ineffectively around the field. Master7 is especially good at running beside the player from the opposite team who’s dribbling the ball up to the unmanned goal, often matching him stride for stride while never getting closer than three feet. And on those rare occasions he does tackle he doesn’t care which team he’s kicking the ball away from – if they’ve got the ball they must be stopped no matter what colour shirt they’re donning.

Sometimes I worry he’ll cop some flack from his teammates but then something will happen and I’ll realize he’s found his tribe. Like today I watched two members of his team both race up to a stray ball and tackle each other to the ground without either touching the ball.

While Master7 might not be in any danger of kicking a goal this season he does love getting out there and having a go.

Of course, there’s the one maneuver Master7 has mastered.

“I’ve really worked up an appetite today,” he told me today as we walked the nets over to the shed, which just so happens to house the canteen.

At the end of the season, if there’s a trophy for most post game hotdogs, my little man has got it in the bag.


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