carbonated joy

I remember when soccer came to Oklahoma.

Back, when I was a kid, we knew nothing about soccer.

Oklahoma was a state that LOVED football…

just the kind of football that you throw around with your hands.

But then, sometime in the late seventies, the Sooner state somehow fell in love with “that other football”.

There was even a professional team, the Tulsa Roughnecks. They were pretty good and they had a cool logo (it was a burly looking cartoon oil worker wearing thigh high soccer shorts).

Suddenly, soccer was cool!

And suddenly, youth leagues were starting up all over.

My parents decided I should try soccer. After all, It could help develop my nonexistent motor skills and eye hand coordination…right?

I remember wearing the scratchy uniform ever, it was made out of some weird polyester – burlap blend. It caused instant chafing, that was fun! The uniform was red and white…so was the chafing.

I wore plastic shin guards that came up to my waist because my legs were so short. That made things a little awkward. I ran like Darth Vader on cough medicine.

I don’t remember actually kicking the ball, I DO remember falling down a lot.

Incidentally, “FIFA” was the breathy sound that I made as I hit the ground and the air got knocked out of me.

Because, I spent so much time on the ground, I took a few cleats to the face…that was no bueno.

I don’t remember the taste of victory, I DO remember the taste of freshly cut grass.

Instead of the World Cup, I just wanted a big cup full of root beer from the tastee-freez after the game.

After one not so beautiful season, I added soccer to my long list of athletic non-accomplishments.

I participated long before anybody thought about giving out participation trophies.

I know that some people love soccer and I lift my barely used shin guard to them and say “ole!”, but for me, soccer was a kick in the head…literally.