So after dance, the idea of sports must have come up. Again, I'm sure either my friends were doing it or I saw it on TV, but somehow the bright idea of me playing soccer came to the table. Now you would not describe me as a "sports" person in any regard. I love my Patriots, love to watch them and cheer them on, but it ends there.
ANYWAYS, five and six year old soccer is hilarious. You can tell the kids to stay in one spot, but really it's usually a clump of kids from both teams pushing the ball around in circle. There is not much action all in all, they don't keep score and it's fun to watch. Now as a five and six year old player, I didn't like to run or be in the clump. I was usually the good one standing where coach told me to and not moving. I would stand there, maybe twirl around a bit, but mostly just stand there. The best part of soccer was I could drink Gatorade each time I came to the bench, so that's all I cared about. Eventually, the coach realized since I was so good at standing there, maybe I should be a goalie. Our goalie was always coming out of the goal, almost completely down field to try and get the ball and just wasn't understanding the idea guarding. So coach pulled me aside and explained that this time I could use my hands, that no one would yell at me to get the ball and I could just stand there. He did try really hard to emphasize not to the let the ball past me. "If it goes behind you, we can lose and everyone will be sad they lost the game." He was trying to motivate me, but he had no idea how much anxiety that could cause a five year old because he had never met a five year old like me. So the big time comes for me to be the goalie in an actual game. They stick me in the goal and I'm so excited. No running! Well on the other team was a star player, he turned out to be my neighbor years later named Dan. Dan was so good he could get the ball out of the tangle of kids and actually kick it to where he actually wanted it to go. SO here comes Dan, (as good as a ten year old!), up the field and kicks the ball at me. According to my parents, I moved out the way but in my mind I tried to stop the ball but it got behind me.
So let me give you a bit of back story before I explain what happened. I have always been a sensitive child. In a way it was great because I cared about others and always did what I told. In other ways I was an emotional basket case and cried hysterically over little things. For years teachers wrote on my report card, "Katie is an extremely kind student but tends to get emotional" in various forms. To say I got upset easily was to say that Disney on New Years is crowded. It's an extreme understatement.
SO Dan scores probably the easiest goal of his career and I now know I've lost the game for my team. My entire team will not only be sad, but probably mad at me and no one will ever be my friend again. I begin to lose my mind and cry hysterically. Not little, cute, upset tears. Big weepy loud wails are coming from five year old me. So now they have to stop the game. My coach comes over to try and get my to stop. My parents come over and try and get me to stop. Even the opposing side's coach comes over to talk to me. They may have made Dan apologize to me, the story gets a little hazy there.
I spent the rest of the game on the bench with two Gatorades. I finished the season but never played more than five minutes again. Coach may have told my parents about a dance class that his daughter loved and maybe I would love it too. Joke's on coach though, I was already kicked out of there too. When the next year came, my parents told me why didn't I try something new since soccer was not that much fun. That was there nice way to say no coach wanted me on their team since by the time you were on the seven and eight year old team they actually kept score. I never played soccer again but I'm happy to say I never got kicked out of a team for crying again. I got kicked out for being really bad.
