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.