Soccer Shock

I had such a blast writing about gym class, I just knew that I had to write about my first soccer team as well!

At 5 years old, I FINALLY was on my first soccer team, the Red Ladybugs, and gee whiz I was excited. I strutted around the house, proudly presenting my red jersey (which nearly went down to my knees) as well as the thick, knee-length socks. And don't even get me started on my obsessions about the half-time snacks. I knew that when it was my turn to bring "treat"--for that was its official title--my teammates were going to be in for a delectable  surprise. Then I would be known as "the cool girl", the one who brought "squeeze its" for treat. But in all of my excitement about soccer, I forgot one very major detail: this was a sport.
After the initial newness of being on a team wore off, soccer wasn't nearly as enjoyable. I didn't enjoy running, or kicking the ball, and I mostly certainly lacked the accuracy or strength to pass the ball to a teammate or send it soaring into the goal. So I instead spent my time on the field doing more productive things, like picking dandelions. Each game I was sure to make a bouquet for both team's coaches. But soon the fields were virtually free of any dandelion. This meant that I had to actually concentrate on the sport, which my chubby little legs simply could not handle. Luckily, I was basically a genius (. Whenever my coach told me that I was in the game, I would streamline to my parent's side--which was basically the only exercise I got during my whole soccer career--and pick up my lawn chair.
Sitting in the center of the field was an ideal solution. I was able to sit down and view the game, but if the ball did come towards me I could quickly jump to my feet and attempt a kick before again sitting down. This pacified my conscience. I mean, I did give my all. It's just that my all really wasn't all that substantial.