Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Ode To A Soccer Tool

It’s that time of year again when the days start to get shorter and the leaves begin to change color. Fall is here and that can only mean one thing. It’s time for a new season of AYSO soccer, and time to deal with the socially awkward, sexually frustrated, and oddly motivated individuals who run the local regions of AYSO soccer and who coach (I use the term loosely) the teams our daughters and sons play on. You know the type I’m talking about. The severely misguided yet highly entertaining douche waffles who forget what AYSO soccer is really all about (the kids) and behave like complete assholes in a vicarious attempt to recapture lost glory. They hold formal team meetings when a simple e-mail would suffice, they show up for each practice in ridiculous get-ups (brightly colored jerseys with matching sweat pants, cleats, and shin guards), they use words like pitch and touch line, and they act as though the outcome of each game (or match as they would call it) is a matter of life and death. They also pretty much put their entire lives on hold during the soccer season as they spend more time putting together their line-ups and “game-planning” than they do working at their actual jobs, and spend more time with their fellow board members (getting trained, certified, and attending various board meetings) than they do with their actual family members. But for those noble few who are able to endure and persevere, the sacrifice is well worth it. For if they’re skilled (lucky) enough to capture a league championship at least for a moment anyway their utterly empty lives will have meaning and purpose. What follows is a tribute to the pathetic yet lovable d-bags I speak of. I call it…

Ode To A Soccer Tool

From the first team meeting it was abundantly clear
As you laid out your plans for the upcoming year

You used words like sacrifice, hard work, and desire
You spoke about discipline, mental toughness, and ire?

We all looked around and wondered, is this guy for real?
That’s when you quieted and said sternly, look here’s the deal

I’ve already scouted each team in our bracket
I’ve discovered their weakness and how to attack it

If you stick to my system and don’t get in the way
A championship we will win, our opponents will pay

Just then a nice lady spoke up and said
My daughter has asthma and an over-sized head

She’s allergic to grass and can’t really run
Isn’t 8-year-old soccer just supposed to be fun?

You gave her a look like you wanted her dead
You started to tremble, your skin turned bright red

After a pause and some hesitation you sighed
You gathered yourself then calmly replied

I’m sorry perhaps I wasn’t clear
In U9 we keep score, there are standings this year

It’s competitive soccer, ma’am, whether you like it or not
And it matters if we win or lose, oh it matters a lot

There’ll be no participation trophies or empty pats on the backs
No more equal playing time for the kids who are hacks

We’ll fight hard in each battle and no prisoners we’ll take
We will focus on victory and all that’s at stake

This is soccer jihad people, we are going to war
If your daughter can’t take it then please see the door

The lady took her wheezing candy apple by the hand
“I will go to the board and see to it you’re banned”

She marched toward the door in a huff and then left
You smiled a wry smile, rubbed a finger to your cleft

Any other quitters go ahead and leave now, you spoke
We all stared in amazement, was this some kind of joke?

The first practice arrived and things got even stranger
We started to wonder if our kids were in danger

You showed up early to warm up and stretch out
In a Euro professional futbol jersey, no doubt

In matching sweat pants with the signature swoosh
Wearing full cleats and shin guards, what a douche

You looked like an asshole but it got even worse
As you began to instruct we all learned of your curse

A big game you talked but it was all mirrors and smoke
For you ran like a girl and your drills were a joke

You were born without talent, athletically void
Not unlike that gay dude from Entourage, Lloyd

As you clumsily galloped around the field like a fool
We couldn’t help but imagine what it was like for you back in school

You must have been picked on, and spit on, and teased
You no doubt received wedgies, your lunch money seized

You probably spent much of your time all alone
You never played sports or got calls on the phone

Your only female companionship came from your Mom
You must’ve jerked off a lot and stayed home from the prom

As I look at you now it all makes perfect sense
No wonder you’re creepy and strangely intense

Up to this point in time your life has been crap
Your wife is a cow, your career is a trap

To you soccer is more than just a game to be played
It’s a chance for redemption, albeit delayed

Your life didn’t turn out the way that you planned it
But in soccer people respect you, in fact you demand it

And if luck intervenes and your team wins it all
At least for a moment anyway you can stand tall

For while youth soccer to most doesn’t matter one bit
It matters a lot when your life’s complete shit

So go ahead and dress funny, take it all way too serious
Scream at the ref’s, go completely delirious

Yell at the girls who can’t play in the heat
Refuse to shake hands with the teams you don’t beat

Remember to talk trash to the opposing team’s players
Be quick to start fights with all the naysayers

And no matter what happens know this to be true
People won’t understand for they haven’t a clue

They will heckle and curse you, you’ll be a pariah
Just like that freak from American Idol, Sanjaya

But instead of piling on and making it worse
I’ll be there to support you, you and your curse

And while most people will call you an idiot or fool
I’ll stand up and salute you, you poor soccer tool

1 comment:

Lauren said...

Laughing all the time....all the time!!!