The more things change...

October 7, 2007
So one of the things I am doing here is coaching. My father in law decided to find me work as a coach here with the local soccer club. Tossa de mar has a soccer club called U.E Tossa (Union Esportivo de Tossa). Before I could buy my ticket to Spain, I was offered a position coaching. Can you imagine these Europeans accepting an American coach. Before I left, most of my coaching friends laughed. Due to my insane insecurities, I never thought I was good enough to coach but for some reason, I did it for 8 years. So the new insecurities that festered after the laughter rang out about how American I am, well let's just say many obstacles were abound in my head.
So I land. Within a week I am meeting my soccer club officers and other coaches. I go one night and it's utter chaos. No one is speaking in Spanish...only CATALAN!!! For the love of God! A few questions in Catalan and a few dumb looks from them...well they got the picture. A few more in Spanish...they got a bigger picture. Silence fell on the room as everyone stared at one another and I stared at them. Tis is going to be quite the challenge.
So I show up for he first day of practice. I had passed this practice field a million times as it sits just south of Tossa on this windy mountainous road leading to Lloret, the next town down. Lovely green grass and fresh air... can you ask for more? I go to meet the head coach. I know who he is, his name is Jesus. (Ok let's take a moment. It's pronounced the Spanish way (hey sus) rather than the English biblical Jesus. The funny thing is after a few weeks of he and I working together, I still freak out when I see I have Jesus on speed dial. My mother would be so proud!). Jesus is a friend of my father in law (i keep chuckling when I say something like that). I met him the last night we were here last Xmas (more giggling...I saw Jesus for Xmas and we had dinner. AND there were 13 people there...no really only 11 but I had you going).
Anyhow, I show up at practice. My whole world was blown wide open. Jesus was sitting on the side line watching the practice from a plastic lawn chair. There was another guy, named Roach (no weird pronunciation...just Roach) who was running the practice. Far as I can tell, I supposedly am taking the place of this guy. You see, Roach's job was to physically prepare the team. I guess that's my role. The team had not shown up yet so we had time to bond in Spanish.
Back home I was coaching girls from ages 9 to 13. My former club said I had a disposition of being patient. Whatever does that mean. So for the past 8 years, I have been groomed as much as I groomed some of Short Pumps more upstanding blond haired pony-tailed young ladies. Now I am faced with these awesome, young and lean 16 year old boys. Ok this is the part where the record scratches. These boys are bigger than me I swear. They are like Roman Gladiators and I am scared. How can I prepare them physically when I have little ideal of their thresholds? I mean with 12 year old girls I run them until their cheeks turn red. Really screws you up when you have a black girl or two on the team :)
Anyhow, they are big, strong, fast and skilled. The run like machines and gracefully work the ball like no other youth team I had ever see. I almost cried. My eyes teared up, but not from sheer joy...Jesus was firing up a cigarette. He barked out orders with puffs of smoke billowing out of his mouth. Now we all know I smoke, but never in front of my team. Hell I won't smoke in front of my mother and I am 35 years old! So while Roach was warming up the motley crew, I decided, why not strike up a rally of us all smoking. Just then, Roach came over and asked me for a cigarette! The three of us sat there smoking while the boys did their stretching. OMFG...will the boys come over to smoke too?
Well to finish off this story, the team and I are doing well. there are 4 boys who speak English. 2 I use to translate when I have something immediate and important to the team, and the other two speak with me as best they can. I work with each kid individually in Spanish afterwards. We have had one friendly and two games so far. Unfortunately, Sebastian, has a bit of a temper and got red carded for drawing back to hit another player who fouled him hard. As an assistant coach I walked him to the dressing room and it's a good thing for me, he is one of the English speaking players. I guess being the only American in this place, I feel like I have a dark cloud over my head. I hear people whispering, "Hay, el Americano!". Now I know what Monica Lewinsky felt when she went out in public. Everyone thinking they know you, afraid to talk to you, but knowing your name or who they THINK you are. Let's face it people, I stick out like a sore thumb. I am Big Hoos 9000!. The point of this is that the boys have done all they can to make me feel welcome. They all greet me when they see me on the field. They greet me if they see me on the street. And they are excellent to Alex when Alex has practice (2 of the boys help with his team). So when I had a chance to help one of the boys, well that's what coaching and mentoring is all about. Sebastian and I had a conversation which led to him apologizing to me, Jesus (insert joke) and the whole team for letting us all down. It's hard to see a kid with such skill and disposition lose his adolescent mind in a flash. I can see Sebastian going far. The kid is immaculate at left forward.
Anyhow, I feel like, with this team I am hitting my stride and fitting right in. They accept me as one of their own even if there are some language-barriers. Still, this will work out just fine. But as soon as my comfort level was reached...Jesus gave me a new task: take a 4 hour class with the club on coaching...all in CATALAN!!!! Now, I have a national coaching license in America. Do you think that matters at all? How am I going to pass the test?
Wait...I'll have Jesus with me!