it is what it is (eso si que es)...

A few weeks ago, before we made our trip back to America, the older men of the soccer club which I coach for, AE Tossa invited me to come play a "veteran´s game". This is a game consisting of older, retired players of all ages to play a pickup game. The ages ranged from 30ish to their 60´s. I was nervous to think I would go out and play with these men as I don´t seem to play as well as I once did when I was 16 years old. Years of being sitting on the couch and not keeping with a regular workout regimen have taken its toll on my waistline and the connection between my mind and body. I know what I want to do when I play...but my body just doesn´t respond as quickly. Still I was determined to put on my boots and stir up a rousing and competitive game of soccer.

The warm up started pretty well as I had to be attentive to a torn hamstring that never quite healed properly 4 years earlier. With no visible or obvious pangs in my right leg, I was growing in confidence. You see a lot was at stake here. This was my moment to bond with the elders of the club and to find my niche here amongst men who have been playing this sport since there were in the womb. Soccer is a test of your manhood here and I could not punk out. Still I was not the youngest, but I probably was the one in the worst shape. That became more evident as I was given my jersey.

We wore the throwback jerseys from years ago when Tossa was split between two very different clubs. Julian, one of the clubs officers, jokes with me as I reached for the red home jersey of one club, calling me a communist. I am sure that joke, at one time was more of a healthy jest with a little more meat on it the farther back in history you go. I am sure those sentiments faded in time as the two clubs merged just last year. I only wore that jersey so I could be sided with my friend Jesús. As I slipped the jersey over my head, I instantly knew that this was not going to be flattering. I am not sure what the average height and weight is here for the Spaniards, but I would be considered severely overweight, I am sure. I hover a full foot over the average male here and about twice as thick as them. Sure my girth is a mixture of some muscled neatly and not so neatly tucked under a warm layer of fat from years of thinking I could eat like a teenager. Here´s to you, McDonald´s drive thru! The shirt wrapped around my belly like the finest of plastic wraps signaling I am overdue for a few thousand sit ups. The arms of the jersey were tight and probably increased my blood pressure in my hands 3 times over! Still I had something to prove so I hit the field ready to play.

To make a short story long...

I started the game a bit nervous but determined to make my mark. Within the first few minutes I had my first attempt as showing off my foot skills...sadly it was against the president who was teasing closely to the age of 60 or so. I will take it. A few more minutes in, I was striking on goal. Nothing too fancy or strong as I was still tedious about testing out my hamstring. Still it was a threat and the opposition was leery of me, trying to not give me a chance to get hot and overconfident. More time passed and I was threatening the goal again, but this time I slyly passed off the ball and my teammate easily slipped it past the keeper. Minutes passed and I did not seem to be much of a threat until I was in the right place at the right time, a ball fell close to me and I artfully dodged one defender, then two, then I was striking on goal. The ball floated past the keeper and deep in the goal...I have arrived! Halftime was coming to a close and a rebound from a teammate´s strike fell back to me and I controlled the ball and struck again. It was not a strong strike but was well placed and I had beaten the keeper. Now I was public enemy number one as my team had taken a 3-0 lead. After halftime, I was looking for my hat trick but it was frustrating as the other team´s intention was to double up on me. I finally got another touch on the ball but the defenders came in fast and strong. I dodged one instinctively and I heard the oohs and ahhs from the crowd as the American seemed to have a firm handle on this sport and I was proving it easily. Still the elusive third goal was not to come but I served up many threatening passes and corner kicks. Still I was a distraction to the other team allowing my team to fight to keep their lead despite 4 unanswered goals from them. Finally I dropped deep in the field and allowed my teammates to make runs which helped us finally raise our hands and heads in victory at the final whistle, 5-4.

Well this Saturday, we had another game. I again donned my tight red jersey and anticipated a similar exhibition of my talent. Let´s just say the shirt felt a bit tighter after 4 weeks between my first display of my flair and this embarrassing performance from the American. I scored nothing, I passed awfully and I was not a factor. This time some of my players from the team I coach even came to watch and got more of a laugh than anything else. What was intended to be a clinic for the boys to watch turned out to be something of a train wreck for me and my team. In the end, we lost 7-3. Well maybe next month I might have something more entertaining to talk about.