Get those nail breakers!

Before I begin, 10 points if you know where the title of this post comes from.

As of November 2010, the time-stamped end of my soccer years, I had consistently been on some soccer team for 17 of my then-22 year old life. During those 17 years, I have played under the guidance of AT LEAST 25 coaches that I can think of off-hand. Never once did the thought cross my mind that one day I'd be one.

This autumn finds me the head coach of the varsity soccer team at Boston University Academy (BUA). Before you start "ooh-ing" and "aah-ing" at how prestigious that sounds, let me paint you a picture. BUA is a small, private high school affiliated with Boston University. It is overflowing with New England's future geniuses- kids who are usually just a little off. 150-ish students make up the entire school, all of whom are taking harder courses than I do as a grad student. Of these 150 pupils, anyone who has the slightest interest in soccer can be on the varsity soccer team. Boys. Girls. Freshmen. Kids who can barely pass a ball. Kids who have never touched a ball. Ever. There are no tryouts. There are no cuts.

Since August 26, 2011, an impossible task has been placed upon my shoulders. I have been hired to somehow mold this ragtag motley crew into a functional squad of lean, mean, ass-kicking machines.

One problem: I'm not a miracle worker.

Something worth mentioning, and sadly the probable least of my problems, is that most of these kids lack proper soccer gear. Some have cleats, but no shin guards. Some wear shin guards but don't have long socks (hello, AYSO U-7). Shurik (most of my kids have ethnic names), a freshman, shows up to practice every single day in his trusty Tevas. If you're familiar with Tevas, or click on the link provided, you'll see that not only do they provide zero support or traction, they aren't even complete shoes. I beg him every day to buy some cleats, or at least a pair of sneakers. But everyday he comes in those damn sandals, kicking the ball with his toe, which happens to be protected by that trademark Teva rubber. Maybe that's why he prefers them.

In addition, I have a theory that has throughout my lifetime generally proven true: The more the book smarts, the less the street smarts. A few days ago, a new kid named Ilya came to practice and asked if he could be on the team. According to BUA policy, everybody gets to play. It doesn't matter that we are halfway through the season. Anyway, he shows up 15 minutes into practice and all the kids are paired up, passing. I tell Ilya, and I quote, to "go hop in with the end group and pass 3-way with them." He looks me in the eye with a telling look of determination, like he really wants impress me and be an integral member of this team. At that point, I lose him. Little Ilya proceeds to put his feet together, crouches down, and starts literally bunny hopping in the direction of the group I told him to join. He was dead serious- I had to explain to him that it was a figure of speech. Every time I'm around my team, it's like being in an Amelia Bedelia book.

So far I've only illustrated the dynamic of our intra-squad interaction... but what about when we play other teams?

We've only had 2 games so far, the first of which was a scrimmage. This 6 minute video link will do a better job describing the experience than my words can. (If you can't read the context clues from this post so far, I am cast as Steve Guttenberg). I'm 100% serious when I say that the ONLY differences between the game in the video and my actual game are: 1. We only lost 0-6, and 2. we didn't have a goat on the sideline. One of my players caught a ball with her hands to avoid heading it. Another doesn't understand the concept of off-sides. At all. But that ended up actually benefitting us... the other team was called off-side on a breakaway because apparently I was the only person who saw poor Ishan standing 30 yards behind the rest of his backline. I later found out the team we played isn't in our league, or even our division. That was a huge relief. At the end of the day, I was actually pleased we only lost by 6 goals- it could have easily been 0-22. But we still got spanked.

Our first league game, the first that counted on my record as a head coach, was a little different. We won 5-3! OK, so the school we played was The Learning Center School for the Deaf. Let's not split hairs here, it's still a win. I'm proud of my little dingdongs for getting a W, even if it was at the mercy of a handicapped team.

Perhaps I'm a little too harsh on my kids. Soccer, and sports in general, are a new concept for most of them. Half of my players miss practices every week because of Robotics Club meetings and viola lessons, for pete's sake. I just want the beautiful game that's taught me so much about life to leave even if just the slightest impression on my ragamuffins. And with an undefeated record so far this season (hey, 1-0 is still considered undefeated), how can I really complain? I'm probably learning more from these kids than they are from me. With a little gumption, some elbow grease, and a prayer, maybe by the end of the season I can get Shurik, Ilya, Ishan, and the rest of my ethnically-named squirts to play some decent soccer.

After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.

1861, 1941, 2001

Following excerpts are taken from George Packer's "Inertia, Not Progress Defines the Decade After 9/11." The New Yorker. 12 Sept. 2011.

"Of the three attacks that have provoked the United States into a major war—in 1861, 1941, and 2001—only one came as a complete surprise. Fort Sumter had been under siege for months when, just before daybreak on April 12, 1861, Confederate batteries around Charleston Harbor, after giving an hour’s notice, opened fire on the Federal position. The Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor, on December 7, 1941, was a violent shock, but only in the nature and extent of the destruction: by then, most Americans had come to believe that the country would be dragged into the global war with Fascism one way or another, though their eyes were fixed on Europe, not the Pacific.

"The attacks of 9/11 were the biggest surprise in American history, and for the past ten years we haven’t stopped being surprised. The war on terror has had no discernible trajectory, and, unlike other military conflicts, it’s almost impossible to define victory.

"Adam Goodheart’s new book, '1861: The Civil War Awakening,' shows that the start of the conflict was accompanied, in what was left of the Union, by a revolutionary surge of energy among young people, who saw the dramatic events of that year in terms of the ideals of 1776: 'the overdue effort to sort out the double legacy of America’s founders: the uneasy marriage of the Declaration’s inspired ideals with the Constitution’s ingenious expedients.'
Pearl Harbor was similarly clarifying. It put an instant end to the isolationism that had kept American foreign policy in a chokehold for two decades. In the White House on the night of December 7th, Franklin Roosevelt’s Navy Secretary, Frank Knox, whispered to Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, 'I think the boss must have a great load off his mind. . . . At least we know what to do now.' The Second World War brought a truce in the American class war that had raged throughout the thirties, and it unified a bitterly divided country.

"This isn’t to deny that there were fierce arguments, at the time and ever since, about the causes and goals of both the Civil War and the Second World War. But 1861 and 1941 each created a common national narrative (which happened to be the victors’ narrative): both wars were about the country’s survival and the expansion of the freedoms on which it was founded. Nothing like this consensus has formed around September 11th.

"After the attacks, Americans asked, 'Why do they hate us?' This turned out to be the wrong line of inquiry. The most pressing questions were about us, not them: our leaders, our institutions, our ability to act as a cohesive nation and make rational decisions, our power to take action abroad in a way that would not be a self-defeating waste. Starting with the intelligence failures that did not foresee the attacks, every major American institution flunked the test of the September 11th decade. The media got the W.M.D.s wrong. The military failed to plan for chaos in postwar Iraq. Congress neglected its oversight duties. The political system produced no statesmen. C.E.O.s and financiers couldn’t see past short-term profits. The Bush Administration had one major success: it succeeded in staving off another terrorist attack in America. It botched almost everything else."



Note: This post should in no way be interpreted as a denouncement of our military troops fighting in the Middle East and elsewhere. I support the U.S. military and am thankful everyday for the soldiers who fight for our country. It is the decisions made at the top with which I do not always agree.


To read more about our fractured post-9/11 America, check out the entire article: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/09/12/110912fa_fact_packer#ixzz1Xx68Rr6Y

Pipe down!

Time for another crotchety grumbling.

September 9, 2011: The first Friday night of the academic school year at Boston University. The first night of freedom for hundreds, nay thousands of horny eighteen year-olds thirsting for alcohol. The first night for these youngsters away from their parents, without the dreaded prospect of class the next day. The loudest night of the year.


If you have in any capacity been following my blog for the past (almost) year, you've probably picked up on the fact that one of the few things I cannot and do not tolerate is the increasingly inconsiderate nature of people. On average, the level of consideration for others decreases exponentially for each new generation. This means that my generation, Generation Y, is somewhat more considerate than the newest generation, Generation Z (aka the "Internet Generation"). Subsequently, the Greatest Generation (see former post, The frightening future), the last living generation of the present day, has by far the most consideration for others. Though I have no quantifiable data to back this theorem, you know it's an undeniable fact- especially if you are a member of one of the older generations.

Last night, after I scrubbed the day off, brushed my teeth, and crawled into my long-johns, I nestled under my sheets excited for the restful sleep that awaited. Yes, it was 10:30pm on a Friday. Yes, I am a healthy, exuberant 23 year-old. Go ahead and judge me for my state of affairs last night. Even though I was under the weather, I probably would have been doing the same thing regardless, as my party years have petered out. I'll take a nice bottle of cabernet over a 40oz. of Mickey's in a heartbeat.

Right as my head hit the pillow, the underage collegiate atmosphere came to life almost en queue. Multiple ambulances screamed down the street, armed with stomach pumps to rescue morons who thought it would be a great idea to play Power Hour with their three best frenemies Jack, Jim, and Jose (Daniels, Beam, and Cuervo). Shit-faced barely-legals stumbled down the sidewalks in their vagina-bearing short skirts and 6-inch heels, shrieking unintelligible Facebook acronyms ("O-M-GGGG!!!). And of course, some DJ-Pauly D-wannabe neighbor, whom I was unable to locate geographically, turned his subwoofers to their highest setting and played the most God-awful, loud, fist-pumping techno "music" for 3 straight hours. I could never understand the point of music that loud (how can you possibly communicate with others?), or techno in general, but I digress. Does this fool not realize there are scores of other residents around him, some of whom have life goals that don't include looking like a leather sack, finding someone different to "smoosh" every night, and taking body shots off Snooki?

While you may argue that it is my fault that I chose to live near students, it is something a destitute grad student in the city of Boston cannot elude. ~55 colleges exist within a 5 mile radius, leaving quiet, affordable living options scarce. And I don't think I'm being completely unreasonable here- fine, be as loud as you want until 11pm, then simply turn your volume (vocal, sound system, and otherwise) DOWN. Or leave and go to an actual bar or club. I have no problem with that.

Tonight is Saturday, and I do not expect the noise pollution to be any better than last night. However, I have to wake up at 8am tomorrow to travel to UMASS-Amherst to broadcast a game, and will not hesitate to own the role of that bitchy, party-pooping neighbor who calls the cops and shuts your party down. So please have some consideration, and keep your music and voices to a reasonable decibel and bass level. Thank you.