There is something ominous about chasing a ball and attempting to put it into a net. Maybe it highlights one’s accomplishments or a mere attempt at one.
Picking the right investment, finding a compatible spouse, doing well at work or outmaneuvering that goalie, what is the difference? Thinking is the same in every one of those endeavors; the skill set which is needed does not vary with the activity.
The process is difficult, riddled with obstacles. Navigating a muddy football field or a suite of offices requires tenacity, commitment, desire, ability and heart. A lot of heart, for sure.
So, here I am. In a park, in a nondescript town in a secondary U.S. state, on a rainy day when I’d rather be at home, drinking hot coffee in front of a fireplace. And thinking how nice it is to be on the inside. Nope, I am not doing that.
I am at a football game of eight-year-old girls who have assembled a rag tag team of various, mostly unchecked skills with no admission standards. Playing another team with the exact same background and skill level. These girls, from either team, if they weren’t here, would be playing in a school yard with one another, making new friends, exchanging stories or whatever eight-year-olds do or find interesting.
They are not doing that, just like I am not sitting in front of a fireplace. Presently, there are two teams lining up on the opposite ends of an improvised football pitch. The battle lines have been drawn. The mostly blond-haired girls with pretty bows on top are pitted against one another. It is kind of windy out here, but it doesn’t matter.
Let me ask you this: what is the difference between this and, say, Liverpool or Real Madrid football games? All are on unobstructed soccer fields, all have devoted fans, all are interested in winning (with the eight year olds the “league” tries to emphasize that having fun is the most important but c’mon, does anyone actually believe that or, better yet, should they?). In either scenario, the coaches are stressed out (even though the mom and dad coaches are not admitting it) and the players are anxious about the minutes they get or position they are assigned to (even though they are not willing to admit it).
While Liverpool’s of the world draw 40,000 or 50,000 or 60,000+ fans, the eight-year-olds draw that in allegiance and fierceness of support. Those moms, dads, siblings, cousins and grandparents are just as vocal as Real’s 60,000+ fans. And I submit to you, more involved and committed.
So, let’s go back to the beginning. What does it all mean? That morning, on that field, in that park, at that moment, in that rain it meant everything. It was a battle of gladiators to the end. Tears of joy and frustration were shed. Nine goals were scored; we lost 5-4 and just like a true fan after a Liverpool game would say, we didn’t deserve to. If only there were a few more minutes to play, if only the opposing goalie was not where she was, if only…
My consolation prize was that my granddaughter scored three out of our teams four goals, but I was saddened by the loss. However, watching her score, interacting with her teammates and being so happy in that single moment, performing that single task in that park meant everything to me. If added meaning to my existence and made me want to go on.
Still, we shouldn’t have lost.
Next time you are driving or walking, and you see kids playing football, or any sport in the street, I’d encourage you to stop and watch. You may not witness another world star in the making (or you may) but, I assure you, you’ll enjoy it.
Trust me.
by Mike Djordjevich
Address :
321 High School Road #303
Bainbridge Island
WA 98110
USA
Telephone : +1 661 645 5572
Email : mike@mdj-cpa.com
Website : http://www.mdj-cpa.com