Mixed Emotions on a Warm Evening

Walking back home on a summery night, after parking several blocks away, I ran into two of my neighbors, separately, both young women, both walking their dogs. Our neighborhood has felt safer lately, since the horrific wave of gang killings appears to have subsided.

A film crew from New York spent the morning here, filming me for an upcoming documentary on a major figure from the 60s. Talking on camera brought up a lot of old memories and feelings form the 70s, which is when much of what people call the 60s actually happened.

In a sad turn of events this afternoon, my son's high school team lost a soccer game that -- had they won -- would have sent them to the city playoffs for a third straight year. They are a small school, about half the size of the larger school they lost to today, 2-1.

My son played the entire game hurt, but nobody knew that but him and me. He didn't tell his coach or teammates, because there was no way he was going to miss this game, with the season on the line.

The injury is to his right leg, the outer muscle on his calf, probably some sort of twist or sprain that has made walking difficult since it occurred in another game Sunday afternoon.

He was in one of those high-speed collisions with an opposing player that makes you catch your breath and hope for the best. Although I could see he was limping a bit afterward, he said he was fine at the end of the game.

But starting that night, the pain was bad enough that he realized he was hurt, and it hasn't abated much since. Nevertheless, with Ibuprofen, stretching and adrenaline, he was perfectly able to play at a very high level today.

In the photo above, he is doing his usual job, guarding an opposing striker. But he also got in on what little offense his team generated, and even after the sting of defeat tonight, I was left with a picture in my mind of the play (no photo, alas.)

From his position at right back, and even with the hurt right leg, he arched a long kick that traveled over half the length of the soccer pitch (over 50 yards) in the air to his left forward, who was in the box to the left of the goalkeeper.

Perfect reception and a cross to the front of the net to a third teammate, and Boom! A goal.

At that point, ahead 1-0, our guys looked like they were on the way to victory and a place in the city playoffs next week. But it was not to be. The other team came back to tie it before the half, and win it in the second half.

I've written many times that sports teaches you not only how to win but how to lose and hopefully to do both gracefully. Although my own kid and his teammates looked pretty downcast after a terrific season fell just short of where they'd hoped to finish, it's also true that soccer is only a game.

And long after I forget who won and who lost, what I'll remember is how he played the game.

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