Misc. Monday 10-09-11 - Fall to fall
Having played soccer since I was in kindergarten, alongside my first-ever favorite teammate Joe, through sixth grade, was just the beginning. It was that time in your soccer career that your Dad coached you, mom drove you and washed your Park District T-shirt with the ugliest possible font and grandma would give you a stick of gum that was harder than a rock, which was surely jammed in the bottom of her purse from the last time she packed candy for church.
It was when there were no positions and kids just ran everywhere. Eventually, one would sneak out with the ball, dribble toward the goal with players chasing, get to the goal and with one mighty swing, miss the ball completely as their cheap untied soccer cleat would sail farther than the ball they intended to kick.
Then soccer got a bit more serious - junior high school. I personally was very fortunate to have a great coach in junior high, Mr. Eric Roll. Coach Roll brought just what we all needed. He played in college! He quickly taught us the ways we should be playing and while we were not very competitive, good things were starting and these hillbillies actually began to play like real soccer players, not just some athletes on a soccer pitch.
Then soccer got even more serious. I thank those to this day for getting a soccer team started at West Holmes High School. Basically, that thanks goes to Carey Conn. Conn took what was first just a club soccer team to a West Holmes High School official sport. Coach Roll moved up with us through our senior year and eventually became the head coach, replacing Conn. Not a fall goes by that I don't thank these two gentlemen for being a big part of West Holmes soccer.
In high school, we weren't that great record-wise. But boy, were we an interesting group that always played for each other. Personally, my favorite memory of high school soccer was beating Hiland (which never happens) in the Sectional semifinal (first game of our playoffs in '97) 1-0. Steve Obrst took an Adam Stadler pass and buried it past the Hiland goalkeeper. We held on to the lead and all jumped like little girls when the final whistle was blown, earning West Holmes soccer's first tournament win.
That fall, our team accomplished what no other team before us did while doing it as a unit and staying out of trouble, miraculously. I'm sure Steve and Adam remember that goal just as well as I do.
The following fall, soccer didn't end. How could it? After playing every fall from kindergarten through my senior year in high school, I couldn't be without the only thing I knew.
So on to college to play at Mount Union. As a member of the Purple Raiders soccer program, I learned quickly that this wasn't going to be the same as high school.
Coach Eaton had us up at 6 a.m. for "morning runs," practice at 10 a.m. and then practice again at 6 p.m. These three-a-days were one week before school started and then our season began the following week. I remember sitting in my dorm room in between practices (with my roommate, another West Holmes alum) contemplating quitting because my feet hurt so bad. But I wasn't going through the fall not playing soccer.
That continued four more years every fall at Mount. Walking from our locker room in the Timken building across State Street to the practice field while slapping the leaves from sticking to our boots, we wore purple practice T-shirts, carried our water bottles, and joked about the weekend before with our teammates. But when we reached the practice field, just past the water tower, we busted every last drip of sweat from our bodies to make the team, beat out a competitor for the same position or make that extra effort to be noticed.
When the college days of playing were over, this sickness for soccer still didn't end. The following fall I took the job as the West Holmes soccer varsity head coach. Unlike buying my wife a car, this was the greatest decision of my life.
I spent the next six falls coaching soccer players at West Holmes who didn't have attitudes, act out of line, cause trouble or talk back to the coach. The players I coached all had good roots, strong family values and understood what it took not only to be a good athlete, but a good student and how do you say it? An upright citizen.
I could talk about the memories for hours, but I'll stick to just one. The best one.
The night before we played Hiland at home, Sept. 3, 2004 to be exact, my wife's labor was induced. At 6 a.m. the following morning, the most beautiful, funny, loud, smart, ornery and lovable human was born, my daughter Maici. The game that day started at 1 p.m. and my wife knew that I had to be with my team. This was as much their celebration as it was ours because that team was our family too.
Just making the pre-game on time, I was greeted with congrats from these kids that I loved just as much as anyone, and I had only known them for a short period of time. Special moments with special kids and parents that made a memory before the game even began. Oh yeah, the game.
We won that day with amazing efforts by our center midfielder Denis Lainez and a goal and assist from one Mr. Tony Glessner (now a teacher). Tony and Denis were just two of the hardest working players I ever had.
If you ask any of those players from those years what their favorite memory from those seasons were, they would say one certain halftime speech at Wooster High School. Mine was the day Maici was born and we beat Hiland. Is there a theme here? Why is it always about beating Hiland?
After resigning as head coach at West Holmes, I have been doing some scouting for a local school, traveling around the surrounding counties during my fall to watch some of the best high school soccer being played in the state.
This fall, I even coached my daughter's kindergarten and first grade team, the Blackbirds. We were OK, but there is nothing more frustrating than kids that don't stay in position. After every game, I felt like I needed a bath after saying so many things under my breath.
To sum that up, that is 25 consecutive fall seasons that I have been a part of a soccer team, program or staff. Scary stuff. But I wouldn't trade the amount of memories, laughs, tears and struggles that I've experienced with my family, players, and teammates even for a new Jeep Wrangler.
Have a good fall. Hope to see you at a soccer game soon.