Soccer is such a civilised game

Press, 1 June 1985, Page 14

Soccer is such a civilised game

“There’s a lot to be said for soccer,” he said as we stood on the sideline. It was a big occasion. Our kid’s first game. “It’s apolitical, for a start,” he said. “And it relies on skill rather than brute strength.” “Yes,” I said. “How often do you hear of people in wheelchairs as a result of soccer injuries?” These days, more parents prefer soccer because it is

nicer and cleaner than rugby. Autumn sun bore down on the field. A damp, earthy smell filled the air, reminding me of dreaded sports days at school. I didn’t like the look of the white team’s mothers. They stood large and stern like Henry Moore sculptures over their pushchairs. Their eyes did not invite smiles, or anything else. Two coaches hovered

over their teams, spilling out last-minute advice in machine gun sentences. Our kid was staring at a cloud. “Doesn’t he look handsome in green?” I said. “His jersey’s on back to front.” The whistle blew. A swarm of under nine-year-olds battled over the ball like ants trying to push a lump of sugar in opposite directions.

“White! White!” screamed Boadicea with a baby buggy. Inspired, or threatened, by the noise, her red-haired son accelerated head-first into a puddle. “You be cartful!” she yelled. “Remember Nicky fell over like that last season and broke his leg. He only got one game.” I shot a side-long look at my husband. ,

White scored a goal. “That’s easy,” our neighbour Ron said. “They’re going downhill. Just wait till the second half.” “But they’ve got the sun in their eyes,” I said. Not that it made much difference. “Get in there! Get in!” fathers shouted. Desperately keen to get a chance at the ball, they cluttered the sideline, hoping aii ill-aimed kick would roll it their way. A pair of dogs got excited and decided to play their own soccer without a ball. Tails flying, they wrestled from one end of the field to the other until one of them was escorted off on a lead. “I’m all for a game that doesn’t emphasise ability to take punishment like a man,” I said when Green scored. A White team member was helped off, hobbling and

howling. At half-time, tlie coaches doled out orange juice. “Anyone want a rest?” they asked, hoping to give the extras a turn. “No!” During the second half, a Green boy tried to bounce the ball off his head, but used his eye instead. Two more went down like skittles, to be instantly replaced by reinforcements. < “Well, at least it’s not highly competitive,” I said. A tiny, aggressive boy with a stalk of grass hanging from his mouth stabbed the ball into Green’s goal. The kid was obviously an oil company executive in the making. It looked as if Green was winning. The green goalie got bored and started dancing in the goal mouth. “See?” he yelled to the Whites. “I said you wouldn’t win!” The entire White team turned and scowled at him.

“This isn’t ballet lessons!” someone said in a menacing voice. ■' 1 •} “Get back in the . goal!” the Green coach called nervously. ' Like an enraged beast, the Whites drove the ball back down the field. ■They were about to score and make it a tie when the whistle blew and it. was over. ' ' - ? Yes, we are proud to be soccer parents. The game is so, well, civilised.