  On Saturday mornings during the fall, while most of Harvard was still too hungover to even sit upright in bed, my buddy Chris Cullen '07 and I would embark on our weekly trek to watch sports at its very best. Somewhere buried beneath the sporting embarrassments of player-fan brawls, lockouts and steroids, we had found the blank slate of athletic competition - matchless in its purity, simplicity and fairness. We had discovered a league refreshingly void of players charged with felonies, DUIs and possession of marijuana. Grand jury testimony? Nonexistent. Recruiting scandals? Entirely unheard of. Steroid testing? Completely unnecessary. In an age of heightened tension between players and fans, we had stumbled upon a field where the fans not only supported the players, they truly loved them. As for the players, they loved the fans too, and from time to time they even openly displayed their affection and respect for those who cheered for them on the sidelines. The fact is they kind of had to...if they wanted a ride home.
Unfortunately, there was some tradeoff for this perfect world of sports. For every one fewer player convicted of a DUI, there was one more guilty of MIP-PC (minor in possession of Pokemon cards). While we were lucky enough not to have to sit through grand jury testimony, we were constantly subjected to a seemingly endless string of "the other day at school" stories. And, of course, while not a single fan could be found tossing objects at the athletes, the athletes often entertained themselves by throwing orange peels at each other, or at parked cars. Such is the life of a volunteer youth soccer coach, arguably the only profession on the planet that pays you in halftime snacks, smiles and unintentional comedy.
Sometime last spring, Chris asked me if I was interested in coaching a seven and eight year old Cambridge Youth Soccer team in the fall. I told him yes without any hesitation, because it sounded like a fun and easy way to spend my Saturday mornings. Oh, how sounds can be deceiving. Don't get me wrong, I had a blast coaching, but I soon discovered that "easy" just wasn't part of the equation. On the scale of easiness from one to ten, with one being "beating the Charlotte Bobcats" and ten being "training a family of bobcats to do the Cancan," coaching youth soccer registers about an 8.5. I was probably right in thinking that learning to deal with the relentless onslaughts of my little brother attempting to annoy me would help prepare me for the job. I just didn't realize that the job meant dealing with the relentless onslaughts of 10 little brothers attempting to do pretty much anything but that which I was telling them to do.
I learned quickly. When you're tossed into a sea of energetic little kids, you have no choice but to learn how to swim. Coaching soccer taught me important life lessons, like never to say the words "just do exactly what I do" to a swarm of little boys, unless you want them to mock your every word and action for eternity. It also taught me the danger of failing to be specific. Leave it to a group of eight year olds to prove just how many different ways a "straight" line can be formed. Through coaching, I also learned the ropes of business negotiations. How else could one discover that three crackers and a cup of apple juice is appropriate currency to purchase a few brief moments of peace and quiet? Most of all, however, I re-learned how to just be a kid. Monday through Friday I was submerged in the ultra-competitive environment of Harvard academics, but on Saturday mornings winning and being the best gave way to far more pressing issues - like what the snacks were for after the game. Life at Harvard has a way of draining the inner child out of all of us, but when I was coaching soccer I felt like I was back splashing in the fountain of youth, or at least standing close enough to it to get drenched by ten little kids splashing me.
I'll admit that when Chris and I first started coaching Team Light Blue we were determined to make it the best damn youth soccer team, period. When we won our first game we were stoked, already discussing an undefeated season and contemplating how long it would take us to break the all-time record for consecutive wins by a youth soccer team. As Chris and I were patting ourselves on the back for the greatest coaching job since the days of John Wooden, a couple of the kids came up to us and innocently asked, "Did we win?" We took the hint. Winning in youth soccer is like the music at a strip club, if that's what you're there for then you're missing the point entirely. Even though the kids would certainly rather win than lose, they'd almost undoubtedly rather play on the playground than do either. The paradox of youth soccer, however, is that despite their complete oblivion to the score, what position they are playing, and sometimes which way they are going, the players always seem to try their best. We didn't have to tell the kids to never give up, because giving up was simply never an issue. Well except for the numerous times each game when the players would continue to kick the ball despite the fact that they were 5 to 10 yards out of bounds. On those occasions, we had to tell them to give up.
Sure, the kids ran wildly after the ball like it was the brownie tray at fat camp, but at least they didn't refuse to play until we renegotiated their contracts with their agents. There's a reason you never see the Youth Soccer Players' Association going on strike until their demands of more orange slices at halftime are met. And yeah, the players don't quite have the coordination and strength that professional athletes have to offer, but that sure makes it easy to prove that nobody's taking steroids. Youth soccer lacks bicycle kicks and half volleys, free kicks bent around the wall and rifling shots hitting the back of the net from 20 yards out, but it also lacks free agency, collective bargaining, exorbitant payrolls, fines, suspensions, greed, egotism...you get the point. In short, while youth sports want the athletic superiority and seemingly supernatural feats that make professional sports so compelling to watch, they are also free from the endless list of vices that constantly put the image of professional sports in jeopardy. That is, youth soccer is free from all the vices except for one: excessive celebration. When was the last time you saw T.O. score a touchdown, jump up and down the entire length of the field and then run off the field to hug every member of his family attending the game? Now THAT is a celebration.
With Team Light Blue's pizza party last night, my first experience coaching youth soccer officially came to an end. While not having games on Saturday mornings has freed up time in my schedule for other things, such as waking up at the crack of noon still fully clothed from Friday night, I really miss coaching. I miss that world where how many goals you scored is far less important than whether or not your friends can come over and play after the game; where perhaps the greatest wrong you can commit is having TOO much fun by playing tag when you are supposed to be standing in line; where "because my mom said so" is an acceptable explanation for just about anything. Vince Lombardi once said, "Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing." Looking back on my coaching experience, I'd have to respectfully disagree with the legendary coach of the Packers. Team Light Blue taught me that there are far more important things in life than winning...such as orange slices and Pokemon cards.
Colin Twomey '07 (ctwomey@fas) can be found throwing orange peels at parked cars on Saturday mornings. He claims that's not weird. Why? Because his mom said so.
This article first appeared 12/16/04 in the sports section of the Harvard Independent.
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