The Required Amount at the Prescribed Rate (Handcrafted From the Finest Corinthian Leather)
Acupuncture and Miracles
13 - 0
Kid in the Store Reversal!
Why? Why bring EVERYONE to the store? Why not divide and conquer? Send one person to the store and let the other person bring the kids to the park or the trampoline village or the go-cart track.
Then our kids got a bit older, and while we'd never bring them into a grocery store, once in a while-- once in a long while-- we would take them sneaker shopping. They were both into sports. Alex has wide feet, like me. Ian has weird skinny feet, like my wife. So they needed to try stuff on. It would be awful. Kids can't do shopping. I can't do shopping.
But now the tables have turned. I've been putting off buying running shoes and low top indoor soccer/tennis trainers for over a year. I hate shopping. And I have to try stuff on. And I hate paying full price. So there's only one place to go: the Jackson Premium Outlets. Nike, Adidas, Reebok and Asics. But there's never a good time to go. It's always a zoo.
Today seemed to be the right day. It was cold and it was supposed to snow. I asked Ian if he wanted to come with me, because he needed running shoes and indoor soccer shoes. He said yes. I told him I needed to go to three different stores. THREE. I asked him if he was up for it. It was going to be crazy. The most stores I had been in for the past two years in a single day was one. The most stores I had brought Ian into was one. But we were going to do three.
Ian is 14 now. I'm 49. We could handle it.
It turns out the tables have turned. Ian has zoomed from being a detriment in stores to being essential. He buzzed right by neutral.
On our way there, we listened to podcasts. No traffic at all.
In the Asics store, the clearance rack was buy one, get a pair free. I tried on shoes while he tried on shoes. We ended up both buying the same pair of GT-2000s. No line. In fact, no people in the store. Awesome. In and out.
Then we went to the Adidas store. Ian quickly found some indoor shoes that fit his weird feet. I struck out.
So we had to go to Nike. I was really looking for low cut trainers that I could wear both for indoor soccer and outdoor tennis. Ian found a great pair of indoor soccer shoes on the clearance rack-- he has great eyes-- but they didn't have much support and would be useless for tennis. Then he found exactly what I was looking for. The Nike Lunar Prime Iron II. They were so cheap that I grabbed a black pair and a gray pair.
I would have never found them. I can't find the ketchup in the fridge.
At the register, just as I was about to pay, Ian noticed that one pair was less expensive than the other. The black pair was marked down to $27.97. The gray pair was $39.99. A great catch.
He ran back into the store and grabbed the other black pair and saved me a few bucks.
Yesterday Was NOT Groundhog Day
Too Many Things
End of Era
Highland Park lost a 1-0 heartbreaker and was eliminated from the state tournament tonight, but I'm so proud of my son Ian-- he had a rough high school soccer career, after being an exceptional youth player . . . this was the first high school season that he didn't get injured and he fought his way into a starting position and scored some big goals and had a few exceptional assists; tonight he had to start at left back (because our left back had a doctor's appointment) and then when the left back arrived he went up and played right wing and then when our center back got hurt he played center back, and then when our center forward cramped he switched to center forward, then went back to center back and then ended the game at left wing . . . Highland Park dominated possession but we couldn't punch through the back line-- we had a number of great shots, and at one point, Ian actually headed a ball into the goal-- but it was was called back because apparently the ball glanced off the football crossbar, not the soccer crossbar -- and we had one frantic rush at the end of the game, which resulted in a corner, and with the clock winding down, Ian got to take a shot off a carom just outside the eighteen-- right footed, unfortunately, as he's a lefty-- and it floated high and just over the crossbar and then time ran out . . . but he had a great season and this team was a blast to watch and at least his career ended with a classic soccer match, an ugly 1-0 loss, where the only goal was an incomprehensible mess in the back and the goalie got out of position and Point Pleasant poked it in-- that's soccer and there's a part of me that's happy never to watch a match with one of my kids playing again-- it's too damn stressful-- and so now it's time to start practicing for tennis season.
An Open Letter to US Youth Soccer:
While I recognize this as a "first world problem," your top-down bureaucratic decision to align US Youth soccer with the rest of the world, and switch from school year age ranges to calendar year age ranges is an arbitrary pain-in-my-ass (are you also going to dictate that we use the metric system?) and while this change could have been implemented with the youngest teams, and you could have "grandfathered" the older teams, instead you are tearing apart every team, everywhere; in larger towns, this isn't as much of a problem, as they have more participants and so it is easier to do a complete reset and conduct new try-outs, but this dictate truly punishes the small town coaches who have cobbled together competitive teams and now have to either play them "up" a year, which isn't good for anybody-- especially my team, which is generally undersized to begin with-- or send some kids packing (who probably won't have another place to go) and so while I recognize that you want to align yourself with international soccer as far as small sided training, which is beneficial to players, I don't understand why shifting age ranges is going to benefit any player in particular, and it is certainly going to hurt a number of teams, and give a number of volunteer travel coaches a huge headache . . . in fact, I'd far prefer adopting the metric system to dealing with the logistics of this; perhaps you will reconsider . . .
Irately,
Dave.
Kids and Sports . . . Highs, Lows and Digressive In-Betweens
In Thirty Years, I Should Run For President?
Last week, I made a triumphant return to indoor soccer and I was able to play for 50 minutes before I felt a twinge in my calf--but I must confess, I also felt fat and out of shape on the soccer pitch, I've been going to the gym and playing pickleball and while pickleball may require some burst of speed and plenty of shuffling in a squat stance, it's not really stop-and-go aerobic exercise; this week, I was able to play for a little over an hour-- I got my 10,000 steps and then stopped before I hurt anything-- and wow, was I winded-- and I still felt fat and slow and without good touch, but I did score a nice left-footed goal on the volley, off a looping cross . . . so I am cautiously optimistic about athletics in 2024-- and my wife and I are trying to eat fewer carbs and more protein, so maybe we'll lose some weight this week, which I am assuming will really help my fitness in sports like soccer and basketball (I was annoyed last week, I didn't drink all week-- until Friday and Saturday, or eat dessert after dinner, and I still don't think I lost a pound . . . as I approach age 54 my metabolism has really slowed down-- when I was in my forties if I quit beer and dessert for a week, I'd lose five pounds).
If Your Friends Jumped Off a Bridge, You Would Too (3x)
We were sort of annoyed that he didn't check with us before he took off on this adventure-- and we added a new rule to the parenting handbook: if you can't contact us, you are not allowed to leave town on a dangerous adventure!
Coach Dave Executes the Best Play of the Day
Road Trip Day Two . . . Can I Keep It Short and Sweet?
Hey Jack Kemp . . . The NFL is the European Socialist Sport!
Dave Pitches a Great Idea for a TV Show
1) a soccer match, of course-- there's no faster way to check out how athletic someone is than to watch them play soccer . . . teamwork, speed, spatial skills, and strategic inclinations are all immediately apparent;
2) pick-up basketball . . . same as above;
3) tennis tournament . . . not as indicative as basketball and soccer, but I love those outfits;
4) a standardized test . . . SAT, ACT, whatever;
5) orienteering . . . it's nice to marry someone with a good sense of direction;
6) driving test . . . you don't want to be cringing when you're in the passenger seat;
7) flu exposure . . . this episode will be ugly, with lots of vomiting, fever, defecation and shivering, but you want a spouse with a hardy immune system and this is the only way to tell;
8) squats . . . curls are for the girls and bench isn't all that important, but it's good to know someone can put up some weight and has sturdy thighs and quads;
9) chili cook-off;
10) a financial assessment . . . you don't want to marry anyone carrying a huge credit card debt or with an outstanding lien on their property . . . and if they have money in the family, that's a big plus, even if they can't put up big numbers on the squat rack.
Birthday Athletics, Plus . . .
I am very sore today, but in a good way: yesterday Alex snuck Ian and me into the Busch gym so we could play some pick-up basketball and we ran into one of my old students from East Brunswick (Armaan) who loves to play (and often plays with my son Alex) and then once we got in the gym, we saw several soccer players and one tennis player from Highland Park (Matt, Amay, and Boyang) and so we played a couple of hours of four-on-four and-- aside from one random-- I had either sired, coached, or taught all the players in the game-- and my team was kicking some butt (Armaan could really shoot and pass) and I was driving the soccer player that was covering me crazy-- he played basketball like a soccer player-- the way I did when I started-- and so succumbed to all the basic moves . . . anyway, we had a blast and then I got up this morning and played 6:30 AM badminton, which I haven't done in a while, and it was as frustrating as it usual is-- that game is difficult and unpredictable and it's really hard to hit a backhand out of the corner-- but I got another good runaround and now I can barely move.
Dave Collects Forms, Finally Reaches Adulthood
An Unexpected (And Possibly Rude) Request
Serendipity, Baby
Though I didn't plan it, I ended up simultaneously reading Futebol: The Brazilian Way of Life, by Alex Bellos, and Play Their Hearts Out: A Coach, His Star Recruit, and the Youth Basketball Machine by George Dohrmann . . . and while there is no question that Brazil is crazy about soccer and America is crazy about basketball, the craziness exhibits itself in very different ways: Brazilians are superstitious, zealous, and obsessively festive about their national pastime (soccer fan clubs also participate in wildly gala and choreographed carnival events, where tattooed soccer hooligans organize thousands of costumed participants in synchronized marching and dancing) and creative to a fault with their gameplay, as illustrated by their incorporation of religion into the sport, their use of bizarre nicknames and their attempt at an "autoball" league in the 1970's . . . meanwhile, the story George Dohrmann tells of elite youth basketball players and their sleazy, despicable, but wildly successful coach Joe Keller paints a portrait of greed, consumption, high hopes, wild aspirations, hard work, hype, enormous success, great pressure, and epic failure . . . all in the milieu of middle school . . . the story is by turns compelling and infuriating, but the book is a must read, especially if you coach kids, and once you're finished, you can check Dohrmann's blog to see where the players from the book are now.
Bag Therapy
What Balls May Come?
Some miracles bite you in the ass-- such as Moses parting the Red Sea or the Bills starting the season at 4 and 2 -- but others require a moment of reflection in order to appreciate their glory . . . and the miracle I am about to describe falls into the latter category (although some people, even upon reflection, did not appreciate the miraculous nature of the following events, leading them-- for my benefit-- to post a definition of the word "miracle" on the office cork-board); Sunday, at my weekly pick-up soccer game, my friend Mario returned a soccer ball that I had left behind several weeks ago-- a ball that I figured was as good as gone (I'm not very vigilant about keeping tabs on soccer balls, as I have so many floating around in my car) and then on Wednesday of the very same week-- at my weekly pick-up basketball game-- my friend Gene (who I hadn't seen since the summer) said, "Hey, I have the basketball you forgot in trunk of my car, the one you left in the summer" and I was pleased and surprised, pleased because I refused to buy a new basketball-- which makes no sense, since I didn't think I'd ever see the one I lost again . . . it was more as a punishment for being so stupid that I felt I should go without a ball-- and surprised that he'd kept the ball that long, and that he remembered to put it in his trunk for the game, just in case he saw me . . . and then it took me a day to realize the miraculous magnitude of the conjunction of these two events: that two balls-- both of which I had given up for lost-- were returned to me in the span of four days . . . certainly a minor miracle if there ever was one-- and now I am excited to see what other balls will be returned to me in the near future . . . because things like this usually happen in threes (although with balls, it might be more appropriate if they happened in twos).