--------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the Church of The 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 2002, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------


PLAYING THE GAME

A Novel

by R.C. Mather




- 1 -

MEET SEAN PORTER



You wonder, sometimes, how you get yourself into situations like
these. Looking back, I have to believe that, somewhere along the
timeline of my life, I was led to this point, that I would be here 
no matter how I led my life. But I digress...


	
Flash back to 1980. At that time, I was a fifteen-year-old jock,
having spent the past several years honing my skills on sandlot
baseball fields. At some point during the previous year, I caught 
the soccer fever that was just beginning to grip the American 
landscape. By the end of that summer I was playing on two teams, and 
earning a little side money as a youth referee. Since they had some 
trouble getting enough qualified adults to be referees, I had the 
chance to work games played by older kids than I otherwise would 
have been allowed to referee. 

Typically, I would be a referee for the real young ones, say six to
eight years old. These kids would play what I liked to refer to as
"swarm-ball". Every kid on the field, except the designated
goalkeeper, would swarm to the ball like bees around a hive. No
matter where it was on the field, they would kick at the thing as if
it were a biting dog, all the time laughing, shouting, and having
absolutely no idea where it was going to go next. The coaches and
parents, meanwhile, would be screaming on the sidelines, as if the
sheer weight of their voices would make little Kimmie or Matthew
suddenly do a bicycle kick like Pele and score the game-winning 
goal.

A couple of times that year, I was given a game with older kids,
usually in the under-fourteen girl's division. These kids were
usually fairly new to the game also, but they were a lot more
coordinated in their athletic abilities. The older players could see
how a play could develop, so they tended to play positions a little
better than the young ones. Their games were a lot more fun to
officiate, and the girls were a lot more fun for a perpetually horny
fifteen-year-old guy to watch running up and down the field.

A lot of these kids were the little sisters of friends of mine, so I
knew a lot of their names. On the soccer field, though, I began
seeing them as individuals, instead of as that annoying kid who was
trying to hang around with us older guys. At the first of these 
games that I officiated, I could see groups of girls huddled 
together, glancing over at me before the game started, talking and 
giggling. I thought of myself as an official however, and 
acknowledging that I knew some of them was beneath my dignity. 
During the inspection and instruction prior to the game, as I 
checked cleats and shin guards, a couple of the girls that I knew 
softly said hi to me, almost embarrassed to know me.

As the game progressed, I forgot about who they were and
concentrated on the play. Some of the girls had been playing for
several years, and others were just learning the fundamentals. 
Nearly all of them, regardless of skills or experience, played
enthusiastically, and played hard. It was kind of a revelation to me
to see these kids running hard up and down the field, heads down,
shoulders and hips and feet fighting for possession of the ball, and
sweating. Not "glowing", not perspiring, but honest-to-God, hard-
work sweating. My estimation of their commitment to athletics 
climbed, and I decided then and there that I would never again think 
of them as annoying little kids.

I learned a lot about those kids that day, and learned a little
about myself, too.

I didn't have any idea then, of course, but I had a lot more that I
would learn about them... and me.




(Continued in Chapter 2)


  
PTG01