October 19th, 2013
It's Saturday morning at the soccer fields. I'm sitting in my camp chair watching my youngest daughter play a form of soccer that is familiar to most parents of 9 year-olds. Never having played the game myself, the strategy and rules continue to be a mystery to me and this is definitely not the place to become enlightened. That's okay though because I think the mystery is shared by many of the players, a few of the coaches and most of the parents. Even so, it truly lifts my spirit just to watch the youthful activity, the high levels of energy being released to the atmosphere through constant motion. I enjoy watching the little faces that display focus and fierce determination, but in a split second light up with smiles and a giggles at some strange spin of the ball or an unexpected deflection off a teammate.
I admit, when my daughter is resting on the sidelines the game holds less interest for me so I sit back, enjoy my coffee gaze at the beautiful open space that has been converted this morning into a center of athletic competition. The sky is a brilliant blue and it is a sunny morning with only a few passing puffy clouds. The trees surrounding the park are displaying leaves in various shades of autumn green, yellow and brown. The air is chilly when the sun is momentarily hidden by a cloud but we are treated to a warm hug when the shadow passes and the sunlight returns. The grass is still a little moist from morning dew. My sneakers are just slightly damp from the long walk across the park to the sidelines of this furthest field. The large square of green lawn is marked off with a grid of white lines creating the boundaries of four soccer fields. The large white soccer goals are lined up and evenly spaced along either end of the fields giving an almost military precision to the area. Their white posts, crossbeam and net stand in stark contrast with to the earth tone colors surrounding them. The goals look impossibly large in comparison to the children defending them.
There are four games being played simultaneously on this bright, cool, comfortable morning. The vibrant orange, blue, red and green t-shirts are in constant and apparently random motion, creating a simply joyous picture that combines color, sound and motion in a way that can only be perceived by all of the senses working together. I take out my notebook and briefly consider trying to capture the tableau but I can't quite find words to record the dynamics of the motion. It is something that if I were a composer I might be able to express with a mix of instruments regularly changing tempo and timbre and tone. I decide just to set my notebook aside and enjoy this symphony of color in energy that ebbs and flows as the players collect into small groups then quickly dispersing before collecting again in another area.
It's Saturday morning at the soccer fields. I'm sitting in my camp chair watching my youngest daughter play a form of soccer that is familiar to most parents of 9 year-olds. Never having played the game myself, the strategy and rules continue to be a mystery to me and this is definitely not the place to become enlightened. That's okay though because I think the mystery is shared by many of the players, a few of the coaches and most of the parents. Even so, it truly lifts my spirit just to watch the youthful activity, the high levels of energy being released to the atmosphere through constant motion. I enjoy watching the little faces that display focus and fierce determination, but in a split second light up with smiles and a giggles at some strange spin of the ball or an unexpected deflection off a teammate.
I admit, when my daughter is resting on the sidelines the game holds less interest for me so I sit back, enjoy my coffee gaze at the beautiful open space that has been converted this morning into a center of athletic competition. The sky is a brilliant blue and it is a sunny morning with only a few passing puffy clouds. The trees surrounding the park are displaying leaves in various shades of autumn green, yellow and brown. The air is chilly when the sun is momentarily hidden by a cloud but we are treated to a warm hug when the shadow passes and the sunlight returns. The grass is still a little moist from morning dew. My sneakers are just slightly damp from the long walk across the park to the sidelines of this furthest field. The large square of green lawn is marked off with a grid of white lines creating the boundaries of four soccer fields. The large white soccer goals are lined up and evenly spaced along either end of the fields giving an almost military precision to the area. Their white posts, crossbeam and net stand in stark contrast with to the earth tone colors surrounding them. The goals look impossibly large in comparison to the children defending them.
There are four games being played simultaneously on this bright, cool, comfortable morning. The vibrant orange, blue, red and green t-shirts are in constant and apparently random motion, creating a simply joyous picture that combines color, sound and motion in a way that can only be perceived by all of the senses working together. I take out my notebook and briefly consider trying to capture the tableau but I can't quite find words to record the dynamics of the motion. It is something that if I were a composer I might be able to express with a mix of instruments regularly changing tempo and timbre and tone. I decide just to set my notebook aside and enjoy this symphony of color in energy that ebbs and flows as the players collect into small groups then quickly dispersing before collecting again in another area.
There is a constant discourse filling the air with rhetorical questions, instructions, and motivation from coaches, punctuated by random occurrences of short referee whistles. The coaches seem particularly skilled both directing the activity on the fields, and at keeping the energy on the sidelines at a slow simmer until they allow it to boils over onto the field as players are substituted. The parents are participating vicariously from the sidelines, shouting encouragement by name to the children they know and by color to those they don't. Every so often a gruff, unintelligible curse escapes from under the breath of a frustrated dad, but frustration quickly passes and the shouts of encouragement resume.
In sequence, the final whistles blow on each field. The colors all mix and stir together as the teams shake hands and congratulate one another. Chairs and blankets are packed up, hugs and praise are heaped on even the least skilled of the players. The entire picture moves slowly toward the parking lot and the beginning of the rest of the day.
In sequence, the final whistles blow on each field. The colors all mix and stir together as the teams shake hands and congratulate one another. Chairs and blankets are packed up, hugs and praise are heaped on even the least skilled of the players. The entire picture moves slowly toward the parking lot and the beginning of the rest of the day.
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