Topic: A Team

Author: Chris Dunn

I try to choke back the sobs as they come hard and heavy, one on top of the other. This fails to stop them, and simply results and adding that painful choking sound you often hear when kids cry too hard. Jim Wood seizes on the moment, “He’s having a baby! Everybody, get back.” To add to his gest, he leaps down in front of me on the bleachers, hands held out as if ready to receive the delivery. All around me on the members of my team burst out laughing. It stings, even worse because I really thought that Jim was my friend.

My first year playing SAY soccer was a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement, fear, and joy all had their part in my initial experience with this new sport. Things started out great, with the anticipation of a new endeavor joined with the nervousness brought on by new situations, new people. Who would be by coach? What kids from school would be on my team? Would we be any good? Would I? I, like most Americans in 1979, knew nothing of soccer, so I had no answers to any of these questions. Mainly, I was glad to simply be playing a sport where no one was throwing a rock at my head or driving it my way propelled at lethal velocity by an aluminum club. Catch it? Isn’t it enough to just avoid being killed by it?

Terry Cox was to be my first coach. I knew him as one of the life guards from the local pool, so he was already an authority figure I was used to listening to. “Don’t run! Cut the horse play! Sit!” His dread commands and fearful notice meant the cessation of summer fun for up to fifteen minutes at a stretch, but still I liked him. He seemed fair, and I rarely misbehaved. He kept the rough-housers off my back poolside, so I felt I could trust him to guard me against any sport-related peer bullying. Very little had changed. He wore a shirt now, but still punctuated his will with a shrill whistle’s scream. “Move up the field! Don’t bunch up! Shoot!”

I think there were maybe 6 teams in that first league, so I knew everyone on my team. They were mostly kids from school, with even a few I hadn’t seen since kindergarten. Billy, Jim, Ruben, Eddie, there were no real bullies, but with the exception of Daryl Gregory, they were all bigger than me. I was, until puberty, a small child - short in stature and tiny of build – a skinny, little kid far more suited to a library than a field. The only thing I had going for me, was I was low to the ground which gave me a tight turning radius. I lacked the size to box out on defense and the strength to kick very far, so Terry dropped both Daryl and I at center forward, pointed us toward the opposing goal with instructions to simply “go long”.

In retrospect, I don’t think Terry knew the first thing about soccer. He was probably just looking to supplement his non-Summer income and jumped at the opportunity presented by the Cincinnati Recreation Commission. Coach a few times and spend your Saturdays in the sun watching your kids run in circles for an hour… Easy money! I think he read a book on soccer, learned the positions and the basic strategy and set us loose. 

We were not good. We lost nearly every game. I never scored or came close to scoring, but it was fine. We had fun. Every game we gathered at our practice field and piled into Terry’s 70s era muscle car. We’d take a circuitous route to the field, a dozen boys stacked on top of each other and bursting out of the windows. We’d hoot and holler at everyone we’d pass. 

Our greatest game, Terry challenged us that if we won, he’d buy us all cokes at a local church festival happening next to the soccer field. We fought hard, scrapping with everything we had. At one point, Jim – not the goalie that day - swatted a ball out of the goal with his fist. I saw the obvious handball, but the ref didn’t. We managed a 2-2 tie, but Terry still bought us the sodas. 

1 – 12 – 1. Not the best record, but I was excited to come back. 

Next year, our team was largely the same, but the coach was different. This time George Snyder had taken over. His son, Cary, was on the team, and he, like everyone else, was huge. I had yet to hit a growth spurt of any kind, and my quick cuts no longer caught anyone by surprise. I was banished to alternate and spent most of my time riding the bench, which was fine by me. Everyone was so big now, stronger and faster, and so much more serious. One time a ball struck my arm in the penalty box and the resultant penalty shot left us tied. Cary punched me in the offending limb after the match. “Damn it! If it wasn’t for Dunn, we would’ve won!”

Our practices centered around our fitness. Coach would run us. We’d start and end every practice jogging a circle around the four backstops that ringed Becker field. Whoever came in last on the opening jog had to do 4 more rotations and essentially spent the entire practice running. Most times the ignominious honor fell to Billy Gustin. He was a heavyset kid, and while we worked at foot drills, he could typically be seen slow stepping it though his third rotation. “Pick it up, Billy!” 

I’ll be honest, I snickered at Billy’s fate more than once, all while trying to find a way to enjoy this new take on a pastime I had used to enjoy. Until the day Billy decided, he’d had enough and stopped showing. As the opening run began, and I lingered toward the rear with Darryl and no one else, it slowly dawned on me that I could very well be the one shuffling along the periphery for over an hour, my lungs burning and my legs aching. No fun, just work… All for a game, I no longer enjoyed. It kindled my competitive spirit, and I fought hard to shoulder Daryl aside, more than willing to have my friend endure torture in my stead. But try as I might, I was weak. I was small. In the last 20 yards, Daryl pulled away. As we crossed the line, I burst into tears. Coach Snyder couldn’t understand what I was crying about, and neither could my teammates. They stood around and joked at my misery while Coach Snyder just tried to get me to breathe normally.

In the end, I didn’t have to run the laps, and to their credit, no one on my team ever mentioned my breakdown again, but still it was clear, sports were not for me. I finished out the year, but I never went back.