My friend Isobel reminded me via email that the European Cup soccer (aka football here in Europe) final was this evening. Her team, Manchester United, was playing Barcelona. Barcelona was the underdog; Manchester is an iconic team (think Bend It Like Beckham). Even though my TV here in Edenderry gets very few channels, I was able to watch the game, which transported me to my years and years of Saturday morning AYSO, watching my three children on the field from my folding chair on the sidelines, spare water bottles and baggies full of orange slices in hand. Today I am still trying to grasp the offsides rule, explained to me probably a hundred times by Nora.
Owen as the eldest was first on the soccer field. He was the kid in the backfield, turning cartwheels or following a butterfly while the action moved around in front of him; occasionally someone would yell, Owen! Watch out! The ball is coming! Did he save any goals? I leave that to the imagination of anyone reading this blog.
Nora was the quick one. At halfback, she showed her dazzling footwork, and was happiest when she was covered with mud; she played all the way through high school, although she didn't like to hurt anyone and was careful not to be too aggressive. Claire's last year in soccer was with the All Stars. Every time someone scored a goal the coach's wife hit the on button on her boombox: Hey, we're the AllStars, get your game on, go play. This song remains Claire's anthem to me, although I have always applied it to her life as an actor.
None of my kids played for a winning team, so Man U's 2-0 loss tonight was not unfamiliar. Still, I was sad that Isobel's team didn't win, as if I had somehow let her down, in my house in Ireland, not rooting hard enough for the home team.
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