Family Sunday Night

A visit to our neighborhood from one of the elite boys' teams from Manchester, U.K., tonight led to what my 16-year-old soccer player called the "most exciting Sunday night" he can ever remember.

For hours before the game, he couldn't restrain himself or stay inside -- he was racing around with his soccer ball, kicking it against buildings, fences, and practicing his many moves, balancing the ball on a toe, twirling it up to his forehead, dropping it down on the opposite heel, curling it around a leg, feinting as if to pass it one way, stopping the ball in mid-pass and reversing it.

If you've never watched soccer players as they fool around with the ball, the closest comparison I can make is with ballet. Arms and hands are strictly for balance; everything relies on your legs and feet.

In a way it is like revisiting our ancestral heritage as primates in forests, who developed startling skills with their lower extremities that no longer are required for our survival -- except on the soccer pitch.

As the two teams prepared for tonight's match -- a friendly challenge -- Aidan and his teammates were joking about how big some of the Manchester lads were. Aidan pointed to the biggest of them all, number 11, and told his buddies, "Watch, that will be the guy I have to guard."

Sure enough. As a center back, he usually draws the toughest player the opposition has to offer.

It was a fun game to watch. The English players were terrific athletes -- fast, strong, and used to playing an extremely physical game. It became obvious early on that they would win this game, but it was equally obvious that our local team was improving right before our eyes and could match up athletically, on a skills level, with a team where several of the players are already signed on with professional English soccer teams.

After the game, Aidan was all smiles. He knew he hadn't played a perfect game (#11 scored one goal on him), but he also knew he had played extremely well, disrupting at least a dozen scoring opportunities for Manchester, and more or less boxing #11 out of the game except for that one time, when the English kid made a great move, a great shot, and a well-deserved goal.

***

This, for us, was a family affair. Our extended family reaches around the globe when it comes to soccer. Little Luca was on the sidelines, cheering for his Uncle Aidan, as were his parents, and Grandma from France, herself a soccer Mom of a great player, now executive of another English team, in Liverpool.

Meanwhile, the youngest attendee by far was little Sophia, who at the age of nine days was also present at her very first soccer game! When she got hungry and started crying, the half of Aidan's team sitting nearby on the bench all turned their heads in her direction.

The sound of a baby that young is a very special thing to hear. And if you want to talk about primal reactions, try letting a bunch of teenage boys, in possession of physical powers they do not yet even comprehend, hear the sound of a newborn nearby when they otherwise would be intently watching their teammates on the pitch.

And then ask yourself what fathers are all about.

***

The game ended when the city-mandated curfew arrived and the field suddenly went dark. As he jogged off the field, coated with sweat, to greet his extended family (who were all shivering in the night air) on the sidelines, Uncle Aidan scooped up little Luca in his arms.

You know what? That was my favorite moment of all...