Junior Girls Soccer
After decades of coaching on a field cunningly placed next to a precipitous drop into the sea, I was relieved this season to be moving across the campus where, tucked north of the tennis courts, I thought life would be all beer & skittles. It turns out that our new, unfenced field is directly next to a thorn-infested bog of despair where no junior girl is willing to retrieve an errant pass without tears, threats, or both. And reader, so many of our passes were errant. One time I made fun of Blake Gage’s knees in a meeting and this, clearly, was his petty revenge.
Did we win leagues or tournaments? Not as such. Did we show flashes of greatness, like exhibitionist lightning? I pondered that question one rainy Tuesday in May when I sloshed through the briars to retrieve a ball that Janey had launched thirty meters into the morass (where was that power during the Kelsey game?), my calves cut to ribbons, my soul in agony, when I stumbled upon a flower in the prickly weeds. This, reader, is a metaphor for Junior Girls Soccer.
Mr. Paul Collis