Prickly legs

Juan really loved soccer. He was from Peru, so I suppose it was a mandatory thing, something that I knew was more than a love-- it was culture, it was ingrained in his soul and it came as easily as his ability to love at all. I, on the other hand, did not grow up playing soccer. So I decided to learn, to love, and to grin and bear it.

Good theory eh?

I joined his intramural soccer team, stood on the side lines and even got thrown in from time to time only to discover that I wasn't even as good as I had thought I was. Our team still won the tournament, even when I didn't play the last three games and I felt happy for Juan. But I still didn't know how to play soccer any better than I did before. So starting Spring term I joined yet another soccer team with one of my co-workers. I haven't gotten particularly better, however, the team is slightly more desperate so I am required to play the entire 40 minutes without any substitutes resulting in me becoming more comfortable on the field and avoiding the ball.

In all seriousness, I like soccer. I just wish I had some inherent ability to handle the ball and to make sweet goals. And, as far as progress is concerned, I have been practicing once a week in between games with my coworker and some of his friends, just last night we played around a little bit which means that I at least feel somewhat more comfortable with the ball.

And who knows. One day you may even see me on TV.