My name is Rosie…and I’m a Soccerholic.
How did this happen you ask? Well for starters, growing up Italian led to memories of my dad jumping around the house when Italia would be kicking ass in the World Cup every four years. Move over Olympics and Super Bowls, we were a first generation home from Palermo, so it was only the World Cup that would excite this family. We went to Italy more than once coincidentally when the World Cup was on as well, which led to people young and old flooding the streets of Rome on motorinos (tiny motorcycle scooters) with their bodies painted green, white, and red and honking air horns. The energy was amazing.
Even still, I never was on a team myself. Even though looking back I was semi-athletic, I did work as a lifeguard and swam to the bottom of the diving well to pick up dummies, I wasn’t a runner. To be on any team worth a damn where I grew up there was a running requirement, you had to run a mile in less than 10 minutes to even be considered for a sports team. I was out, which was okay, because in those days I was all music and theater focused anyways. I would have NEVER given up the chance to sing on stage to run on a soccer pitch.
My husband, as American as apple pie itself, had a draw to Football and Baseball. We would talk about when we had kids how they would probably play those sports just like dad and he would coach from the sidelines. Well, we were half right. As you know, what you think will happen and what does happen doesn’t always jive when you have kids so ironically enough, our boy ONLY wanted to play soccer every season from the age of 5. We would suggest he try something new, but at the 11th hour when it was time to pay the cash, he would always want soccer. So soccer it was and became our year-round commitment.
|Me and the Hubs|
The good thing is that because my boy is, shall we say, a little energetic, it’s the sport that is best for him and his body structure because it is all running based. There is no way he would have the patience to stand in the outfield waiting for a ball to fall in his mitt. While we struggle at school to just sit still, when the bell rings it was all soccer every night where he could run and kick to his heart’s desire. And run he did.
This is where I become the typical soccer mom. All I’m missing is a mini-van but don’t worry, my next vehicular move will be back to a compact car. That’s a post for another day. I love wearing all my soccer mom clothing, and the team colors, and all the black-and white pentagon inspired fashions. Soccer is in my blood literally so it just makes sense that’s where the dominoes have fallen.
|Lost about 2 inches by sweating under my shin guards!|
But this soccer mom doesn’t just sit on the side and yell obscenities from a folding chair. Oh no. This soccer mom plays for herself. Me and a bunch of friends all joined a summer co-ed soccer league just for fun and exercise and I’m out there running and kicking myself. The last time I was on an organized sports team was my softball team in 8th grade so I was a little nervous. But these were my friends. And I have been running for over a year. So I laced up my cleats and ran and kicked and ran some more. And my heart thanked me. This is a life I never thought I’d live.
So in the sprit of the World Cup, I became both a Soccer Mom and a Soccer-playing Mom. And it’s euphoric.