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From: RevCottonMather@excite.com (Reverend Cotton Mather)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 16 Jun 2001 14:11:51 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game 006/? (mf rom) by Rev. Cotton Mather
Date: Sat, 16 Jun 2001 18:10:12 -0400
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Right Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded for
the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to download 
or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there is no 
intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring this 
material.

(copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)
------------------------------------------------------------------------



PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 6 -

LORI AND DAVEY AND KIP


The next day, I got a call from the lady who was in charge of 
assigning referees to the soccer games sponsored by our soccer 
association.

"Hello, Mrs. Dailey," I said.  "Is there going to be a schedule 
change?"

"No, Sean," she answered.  "I got a call from one of the parents at a 
game you officiated at last week that I need to talk to you about."

"Oh?" I asked with some apprehension.  "Did I do something wrong?"
I was thinking about that game that my concentration was not on after 
my experience with Kayla.

"No, Sean, not at all.  This was one of your under-8 games from a 
couple of weeks ago.  It seems you impressed some of the parents.  
This particular mom wanted your name and phone number to ask if you 
would be interested in giving some private soccer lessons to her 
children.  Since it's not our policy to just give out telephone 
numbers, I told her I would call you and give you her name and number, 
and if you were interested you would call her instead.  She agreed to 
that, so I have her information if you would like it."

"That's great, Mrs. Dailey, I really appreciate it."

"You know, Sean, usually when I get calls from parents it's to 
complain about one of our officials.  It's a pleasure to be able to 
pass along one of the few compliments we receive.  You should feel 
good about the job you've been doing out there, and I for one really 
appreciate the work you've done."

"Aw, Jeez, Mrs. Dailey, you're embarrassing me, but thanks."

"You're very welcome, Sean," she said, "And thank YOU."

She gave me the information.  The call was from a Mrs. Wilkinson, and 
she was interested in beginner lessons for her 7-year-old and 
8-year-old boys.  I called her and introduced myself, and we chatted 
for a few minutes.

"So, Sean, you were the referee at my son's game, and I was really 
impressed with how well you were able to communicate with the kids.  
Kip is 7, and his brother Davey is 8, and they both say they want to 
learn how to play better.  Would you be interested in helping them?  
I'll be glad to pay you by the hour."

"Sure, Mrs. Wilkinson, I'll be glad to help them."

And so arrangements were made.  The Wilkinsons lived about half a mile 
from my house, so I agreed to meet the boys that afternoon at their 
house to start their lessons.

After lunch, I loaded up my gear in a backpack and rode my bike over 
to their house.  I rang the bell, and a lady answered the door.

"You must be Sean.  I'm Lori Wilkinson.  Come on in and meet the boys."

I was a little shocked that this person was really Mrs. Wilkinson.  
She looked to be barely into her 20's.  She was about 5'6" tall, 
slender, with light brown hair cut just to her shoulders.  She was 
very tan and looked very fit.  The halter-top she wore accentuated her 
small waist and made her top look bigger than it probably was, and the 
white shorts made her tan legs look like they were about a mile long.  
If she hadn't introduced herself, I would have assumed she was a 
college-age babysitter or something.

I followed her back into the house.  In the kitchen, she offered me 
some lemonade, and then poked her head out the patio door.

"Kip!" she called.  "Davey!  Come in for a minute, boys!"

I heard them before I saw them.  They were yelling and tumbling and 
practically doing somersaults over each other on their way into the 
house.  They stopped for a second when they saw me by the kitchen 
table, and Mrs. Wilkinson introduced us.

"Are you going to teach us soccer?" asked Davey.

"You were the referee at my game," said Kip at the same time.

"Yes and yes," I answered.  "Do you want to learn?"

"YEAH!" they both yelled.  "I'm gonna play for the Chicago Fire!" 
shouted Davey.

"Oh yeah?  Well, I'm gonna play for…for…the CUBS!" yelled Kip.

"You dope, the Cubs play baseball, not soccer," sneered Davey.

"Not by the time I'm playing for them, they won't be," insisted Kip.

"All right, boys, enough!  Grab your soccer gear, and don't forget 
your shin guards, and follow Sean, all right?  And listen to what he 
says, and no smarting off to him.  He's the boss.  Got it?"  Mrs. 
Wilkinson pinned them both with a stern eye.  "No trouble from you 
two hoodlums, okay?" she added.

"Okay!" they shouted in unison.  And off they went to collect their 
gear.

Mrs. Wilkinson watched them go, and then turned to me.

"They're good boys," she said.  "Just a little rambunctious.  They'll 
listen to you.  They really like to play soccer, and I think they 
really want to learn."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Wilkinson, we'll be fine.  I like little kids, and 
your boys look like they know how to have fun.  We'll have a good 
time, I know we will."

"Thank you, Sean.  And please, call me Lori."  She poured us both a 
little more lemonade while we waited for the boys to come back.



I was right about Kip and Davey.  They were very active little boys, 
but they were also happy to listen to what I had to say, as long as I 
didn't talk too much.  A lot of soccer is learned kicking and 
dribbling, however, not being lectured at, so the boys and I had a 
great time at our first lesson working on basics.  By the end of the 
first lesson they were actually passing the ball pretty much in the 
direction they wanted it to go, and were running ahead of me as we 
made our way from the park back to their house, passing the ball back 
and forth and staying about five feet from each other, as I had taught 
them.

When we got to their house, they opened the door and burst in, 
shouting and yelling to their mother about their lesson.  Lori came 
out from the back of the house and poured us all more lemonade as she 
listened to their excited chatter about all they had learned.  Every 
once in a while she would glance up at me and give me a big smile.

Finally she clapped her hands and said, "Okay, boys, way to go.  
Everybody upstairs now, and wash your hands and faces.  You guys are 
filthy!"

Kip and Davey slammed down their glasses and ran up the stairs, in 
constant motion.  Lori refilled my glass and reached for her purse.

"Thank you so much, Sean.  I really appreciate the time you took with 
them.  I know they can be a handful sometimes."

"They're great kids, Lori," I said.  "They're enthusiastic, and 
they're friendly, and they really are interested in learning how to 
play soccer.  They may be a lot of work, but they seem to be a lot of 
fun, too."

"They are a lot of work, especially for a single mom.  But you're 
right, they are fun.  Anyway," she said, handing me the money, "here's 
for today.  Can you come back tomorrow?"

"Sure, and thanks for letting me work with them," I said.  We walked to
her front door, and I yelled up the stairs to the boys.  "See you 
tomorrow, guys!  Good job!"

"Bye, Sean!"  "See you tomorrow, Sean!"

"Goodbye, Sean.  And thank you for taking such good care of my little 
guys."  She touched my arm lightly as she said goodbye.  I hopped on 
my bike and rode home, turning back to wave as I rode down the street. 
Lori was there, in her doorway, the whole time, watching me ride away.



(Continued in Chapter 7)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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