The Winner
I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only
five or six years old, but they were playing a real game - a serious
game - two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents. I
didn't know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the
distraction of being anxious about winning or losing - I only wished
the parents and coaches could have done the same. The teams were pretty
evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody
scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy
and terribly inefficient, as only children can be. They fell over their
own feet, they stumbled over the ball, they kicked at the ball
and missed it, but they didn't seem to care...they were having fun!
In the second period, the Team One coach, pulled out what must have
been his first team players and put in the scrubs; with the exception of
his best player, who he left at goalie. The game took a dramatic turn. I
guess winning is important even when you are five years old, because the
Team Two coach left his best players in, the Team One scrubs were just no
match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy at goalie. He was
an outstanding athlete for five, but he was no match for three or four who
were equally as good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it his
all. Recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying
valiantly to stop them. Team Two scored two quick points in succession.
It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac - shouting, running,
and diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he finally was able to
cover one of the boys as he approached the goal. But, that boy kicked the
ball to another boy twenty feet away, and by the time the young goalie
repositioned himself, it was too late. They scored a third goal. I soon
learned who the goalie's parents were. They were nice, decent-looking
people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office, tie and all.
They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching
the boy on the field, and his parents on the sideline. After the third goal,
the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn't stop them.
He didn't quit, but he became quietly desperate - futility was written all
over his face. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try
harder - yelling advice and encouragement.
But then he changed; he became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay
...to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling.
After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I've seen it before.
The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He
retrieved the ball from the net and handed it to the referee - and
then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks.
He went to his knees, I saw his father start onto the field. His wife clutched
his wrist and said, "Jim, don't.You'll embarrass him." But, he tore loose from
her and ran onto the field. He wasn't supposed to for the game was still in
progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes, and all - he charged onto the field and he
picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy. And he hugged
him and kissed him ... and cried with him. I have never been so proud of any
man in my life.
He carried him off the field, and when they got close to the sidelines I
heard him say "Scotty, I'm so proud of you. You were great out there. I
want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy," the boy sobbed, "I
couldn't stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried and they scored on
me." "Scotty, it doesn't matter how many times they score on you. You're my
son, and I'm proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the
game. I know you want to quit, but you can't. And son, you're going to get
scored on again, but it doesn't matter. Go on, now." It made a difference -
I could tell it did.
When you're all alone, and you're getting scored on - and you can't
stop them - it means a lot to know that it doesn't matter to those who
love you. The little guy ran back on to the field, and they scored two more
times; but it was okay.
Love - Words