|Probably the only sports post I'll ever make on here.
||[Apr. 13th, 2007|02:44 am]
I went to one of my little brother's YMCA soccer games today. I've been to several of his games before, and it's always amusing to see how 10-12 year olds handle the game, especially since that's about how old I was when I started playing the game. |
Well, unfortunately his team is fairly lackluster this year. It's a co-ed league, and the team is mostly girls. This is not a bad thing in an of itself, after all, some of them have hit early growth spurts and have rather long legs, but none of them seem extraordinarily interested in putting them to much use. Basically all the real work is done by four boys on the team:
There's "Steeltoe", a chubby fullback who is great at using the front of his foot to launch the ball to the other side of the field when it comes his way.
Then there's the other fullback, "Goalkick" a less-chubby Hispanic kid. His name is Goalkick because that's the only time he EVER touches the ball. The thing is, he's actually really great at them and can send the ball flying even further than Steeltoe.
Then there's Ajax. I guess that's his real name. He's the coach's son, a forward and the best player on the team. I'm really glad the kid is good at sports, because his father has a Nike swoosh tattooed across his bulging calf muscle. Every day must be like a training camp for the poor tyke. Basically, the strategy is that all the other players are there just to get the ball up to him so he can score.
Finally, there's my little brother, who plays goalie for the first half of every game, and something else for the second half. He's not bad, but he's probably the most well-rounded of everyone on the team. In other words, he doesn't seem to excel in one position, but can manage wherever the coach puts him. I guess he's like the team's wild card.
So, the game gets underway, and as usual the teams clump into a tight crowd that follow the ball as it rolls and bounces back and forth across the field. Despite the encouragement (if you can call it that) from well-meaning parents, nobody scores for the first half. The ref blows the whistle: half time.
My brother notices me standing with my dad and stepbrother, and runs over to greet us with a tiny blue Gatorade bottle in his hand. We all tell him what a good job he was doing, but he isn't very interested in hearing about it, he comes right up to me and proclaims that he has successfully acquired the Aeon Bahamut and is attempting to defeat Seymour's third undead form after his slaughter of the Ronso Tribe atop Mount Gagazet. He hands the bottle to my dad who opens it for him while he explains:
"I don't have enough gill to hire Ya...Yaza..."
"Well, don't worry about it. I didn't get him till near the end of the game."
We're talking about Final Fantasy 10, which I bought him for Christmas, unsure whether he would actually play it. Every time I've seen him for the last few months, he has eagerly recounted his adventures in Spira. It makes me proud somehow, probably in the same way Ajax Sr. feels when his son's grueling daily training turns into a goal scored for the team. On one hand, I was able to share with him something that brought me a lot of enjoyment, and to see him enthralled by it makes me happy, and on the other hand, I feel like he's following in my footsteps to some extent, which is just...neat. In some ways I feel like it's a preview of what it would be like to be a father.
Anyhow the games starts back up. Suddenly, the opposing team makes a tremendous drive for the goal and narrowly misses. The reason for the power-shift soon becomes very clear. One little Hispanic kid, number 14, is kicking ass. He's like a tiny Pele, and he's completely tipped the balanced stalemate by himself.
The strange thing is, none of us remembered even seeing this kid in the first half of the game. Where was he, and why wasn't he playing if he's so great? A scenario begins to take shape in my mind.
Coach: "This isn't good. It's half time and we haven't scored. We'll have to bring out...the secret weapon.:
Asst Coach: "Sir, no! It's too dangerous! His power-levels are off the chart! If he loses control even for an instant, all life on Earth will be destroyed!"
Coach: "Dammit, what choice to we have?! Summon him now!"
A small, ordinary kid sits on a couch in his living room, a PS2 controller in his hand. The lights from the television screen reflect in his eyes as he stares unblinking at the game in which he is engaged, his mouth half open. Suddenly, his pager vibrates. He pauses his game, glancing down to see a red light flashing. That's all he has to see to understand.
He is needed.
He drops the controller and dashes to the next room. In a matter of seconds, the garage door of his house opens, and ion-diffused-antimatter-engine-powered-minivan rockets through the air at full speed toward the soccer field. Using his ascended chi-powers, he flies from the opened rear hatch of the vehicle toward his teams side of the field.
Assistant Coach: "But...that's impossible! The Magi predicted his chances of activated at less than 0.00000001%!"
Coach "It doesn't matter. Now that we have our ultimate weapon- Chibi Pele-chan, we will win."
Chibi Pele Chan: *scores two goals*
And thus the game came to and end, with my brothers team losing to the mysterious prodigy and his team, 0-2.