Summer Time

Some of you crazy parents just don’t get it. Even those girlie-men that play in that stupid Premiership thingy over in depressingly gray England understand that summer is the OFF SEASON. The pros over there realize that this is not the time to be playing in tournaments. For them, summer is the time to demonstrate your loyalty to the team by having your agent hawk your ass to any club willing to pay you more than your current obscene earnings. Summer is the time to trade in your old WAG for one that has actually had a hit record in the last five years or so. Summer is the time when newspaper stories of you being arrested for soliciting in a men’s restroom on Clapham common can be relegated to page five.

So if it’s good enough for the so-called professionals what is with you nutcase parents forcing your kids to play soccer in the summer heat?

Responsible parents like me understand the need for some R’n’R so that our kids can give their best when the real stuff starts up again. We will be taking a well earned family break from soccer with a nice European holiday where the only balls on view will be in the tightly packed speedos worn by the greasy bums on the beach in St. Tropez.

The only problem we have is in finding a time when all of us can be together.

By some miracle my hapless son’s academy team has made the national finals, which has kept them training three times a week ahead of the games this weekend. That’s nearly two months longer than his normal season before I purchased him a spot on the team which uses these ‘best practice’ techniques. I also heard a whisper that some totally blind selector might name him to his conference select team to play against the Youth National Team after the championship is over, so now I have no idea when he is going to be available for a vacation – especially since his high school coach is already on the phone day and night trying to get him to go to the illegal pre-season training sessions he’s doing behind closed doors at the dome.

My eldest daughter is, of course, heading into her senior year. At the moment the only offer she has is as a possible walk on at the division four University Of Last Resort in Snowshoe, PA. Given the money we have spent on soccer for her these last ten years I am still hopeful of getting her into UoM, State, or Oakland. Before I resort to using my feminine charms I’m making one last financial bid by having her go to all three college’s summer camps this year so that she can (metaphorically) kiss the ass of the head coaches in person.

My youngest (aka “The Protégé”) is, of course, a very busy little girl. With morning classes in proprioceptive movement and spatial awareness, afternoons with her personal foot skills trainer, and evenings in the weight room, we already struggle to find the time to get her to her therapist on time. I hate to boast, but for a six year old she handles it all very well, and though she hides it quite well I think she’s missing her teammates who are playing in those stupid summer tournaments.

Having said all that, it looks like we will have time to be together in the first week in August which is really cool because we can be in St. Tropez just in time for the beach soccer tournament they are holding!