Ending up an emotional weekend, I drove my 17-year-old to a scrimmage out at West Sunset. As we arrived, he gave me his earring and jogged out to join his teammates, the Seals.
There were three 35-minute periods. The opposing team did not have quite enough players, so one Seal had to go over and help out each period. In the first, he played his usual center back for the Seals, and they won easily, 3-0.
He sat out the second, a 0-0 draw.
In the third, he joined the other team (thus the white jersey in the photo) and tackled a few of guys who are normally his teammates, drawing smiles and handshakes all around. The Seals won this one, barely, 1-0.
Of course, in the third period, I was rooting against the Seals, not for them, which was an odd turn of events. As the parent of an athlete, like every other person in this situation, I chose my son over his team, even in a meaningless scrimmage.
When late in the period, he got the ball and decided to make a run at his teammates by racing the length of the filed right in front of us (see photo) and try to score, I got as excited as if it were a real game and he was a striker.
He didn't score, in fact he didn't even get off a shot, because his usual co-center back blocked him effectively.
Afterwards they both smiled.
Such is sports. Far better, in many cases, than "real life."
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