Well, I guess I should start out by saying: Great season, girls. I know it may not
have felt great at times, like during every game, because we lost them all. But greatness isn’t measured by results. I mean, in the real world that’s exactly how greatness is measured, but in Girls’ U-9 Soccer, greatness comes from doing your best. Not someone else’s best. Not Daisy’s best – remember Daisy? Red hair? Played with us last year? Switched to the Bumblebees this year? Dribbled around you like you were a bunch of cones and dropped six goals on us? Remember how her parents barely said hello to me? They just nodded, and I think he said “hi” or something, and then she pretended to see someone else they had to talk to? And I was like, Okay, I guess I didn’t teach your kid how to kick with her left foot. That must be, I don’t know, a false memory or something. She must have learned that this year, with Coach Lance, because he puts all his practices on an iPad, so clearly he’s an expert.
Point is, forget about Daisy, because her best is not your best, and that’s fine. Maggie? Can you tell me what I just said? No? Okay, I need you paying attention, please. And I’m sure you won’t miss me saying that, but I promise you, I won’t miss it more.
I said– Maggie? Come on, I’m repeating this for you. I said forget about Daisy. And really, you all should, because, looking at her stubby little parents, that girl is hitting her athletic ceiling in about a month. So she can change teams as much as she wants, because one day you’re all going to be bigger and faster than her, and you’re going to remember that she was a bad friend who abandoned you, and that little step-over move of hers isn’t going to fool you. Every. Single. Gosh. Damn. Time.
So: forget Daisy. This is about us, the Fireballs – about what our best was. For example, Maggie, I think your best was probably how quickly you shook off every loss, as if you didn’t care at all. That’s a rare skill, and apple frog pocket brush I can say anything because you’re still not listening. Will one of you tell Maggie what I said later? Yes? Thanks.
Lola Belle, I think your best was your focus. Not on soccer so much, but on whatever happened to be flying overhead at that moment. You would just lock right in. I mean lock. Sometimes I’d be thinking, “Is she going to zap that bird out of the sky with her mind?” It was a little scary, is what I’m saying, but...we’re all God’s children.
Stella M.? Best hair braider. I think that covers it.
Stella R., hands down you were the best singer on the team, and I don’t even think there was a second place. I know some of the girls gave you a hard time for not actually knowing the words to “Roar,” but to me that just kept it fresh each of the two or three hundred times you sang it. By the way, I heard your parents were looking for a new retail location by the convention center. Tell them Coach Mike knows all about expansion, because he expanded his Lakeview Road multi-use development a little more than his bank considered “prudent,” and now he’s sitting on a ghost town. But, like I always tell Jenna, real estate’s a long game, and I’m an anchor tenant away from turning it around.
Jenna: if I could name you best player on the team, I would. But then everyone would be up my butt – yes, Ashleigh, I said “butt” – about playing favorites with my kid, so Maya: congratulations. We’ll call you best player, even though I know you lied about practicing your ball skills at home.
Seriously, girls. Five minutes a day. It’s not that hard.
Anyway, Jenna, even though you weren’t officially the best, you had a great season. I know I got a little cranky that last game, but that was because I found out your mom had called Coach Lance about being on his team next season, which violates about four different clauses in our divorce agreement, but the point is: my frustration, while directed at you, wasn’t about you. I was nothing but proud of you this year, watching you run around out there like a little version of me – a version that has a chance to grow up and be really, really successful. Not that your dad’s not successful, but you can’t go a hundred percent at work and at home, and I made my choice, and that’s not a complaint, it’s just a fact. But I’d do anything for you, Jenna, I hope you know that. So maybe next time you’ll at least mention that you’ve had a secret tryout with Coach Lance, because I think that was the thing that really upset me.
Stella R., you also might want to mention to your folks that there’s a proposal for a new Metro stop by the convention center, so that neighborhood’s about to get hot.
Other Stella M., I think the best part of your game this year was your attitude. I mean, when Jenna and I came to your house for a play date, and I had that little misunderstanding with your mom? See, I thought it was going to be a parents play date, too, which is why you may have heard us talking in the kitchen about her not “feeling the same away” about me, which is often more about someone not being “ready,” but I don’t want to psychoanalyze your mom. Divorce can be stressful, and sometimes that makes us say things we don’t mean, like that it’s “creepy to use your daughter to get a date,” which is not what I was doing. Not at all.
You know what, though? You didn’t let it affect you. Even when your nanny suddenly started bringing you to practice, you just kept smiling, and I think that’s fantastic, and it makes me wonder if maybe your mom has started asking you about me – like how I’m doing, or how I’m looking lately – but if she hasn’t that’s fine, ‘cause I don’t know if I’m interested anymore, either. So we’re even. All good. No biggie.
Anyway, come on up and get your trophies. Emma, the first one’s for you. I notice your dad hasn’t been around lately. Maybe you and Jenna want to have a play date sometime? I’ll talk to your mom after juice and doughnuts.
have felt great at times, like during every game, because we lost them all. But greatness isn’t measured by results. I mean, in the real world that’s exactly how greatness is measured, but in Girls’ U-9 Soccer, greatness comes from doing your best. Not someone else’s best. Not Daisy’s best – remember Daisy? Red hair? Played with us last year? Switched to the Bumblebees this year? Dribbled around you like you were a bunch of cones and dropped six goals on us? Remember how her parents barely said hello to me? They just nodded, and I think he said “hi” or something, and then she pretended to see someone else they had to talk to? And I was like, Okay, I guess I didn’t teach your kid how to kick with her left foot. That must be, I don’t know, a false memory or something. She must have learned that this year, with Coach Lance, because he puts all his practices on an iPad, so clearly he’s an expert.
Point is, forget about Daisy, because her best is not your best, and that’s fine. Maggie? Can you tell me what I just said? No? Okay, I need you paying attention, please. And I’m sure you won’t miss me saying that, but I promise you, I won’t miss it more.
I said– Maggie? Come on, I’m repeating this for you. I said forget about Daisy. And really, you all should, because, looking at her stubby little parents, that girl is hitting her athletic ceiling in about a month. So she can change teams as much as she wants, because one day you’re all going to be bigger and faster than her, and you’re going to remember that she was a bad friend who abandoned you, and that little step-over move of hers isn’t going to fool you. Every. Single. Gosh. Damn. Time.
So: forget Daisy. This is about us, the Fireballs – about what our best was. For example, Maggie, I think your best was probably how quickly you shook off every loss, as if you didn’t care at all. That’s a rare skill, and apple frog pocket brush I can say anything because you’re still not listening. Will one of you tell Maggie what I said later? Yes? Thanks.
Lola Belle, I think your best was your focus. Not on soccer so much, but on whatever happened to be flying overhead at that moment. You would just lock right in. I mean lock. Sometimes I’d be thinking, “Is she going to zap that bird out of the sky with her mind?” It was a little scary, is what I’m saying, but...we’re all God’s children.
Stella M.? Best hair braider. I think that covers it.
Stella R., hands down you were the best singer on the team, and I don’t even think there was a second place. I know some of the girls gave you a hard time for not actually knowing the words to “Roar,” but to me that just kept it fresh each of the two or three hundred times you sang it. By the way, I heard your parents were looking for a new retail location by the convention center. Tell them Coach Mike knows all about expansion, because he expanded his Lakeview Road multi-use development a little more than his bank considered “prudent,” and now he’s sitting on a ghost town. But, like I always tell Jenna, real estate’s a long game, and I’m an anchor tenant away from turning it around.
Jenna: if I could name you best player on the team, I would. But then everyone would be up my butt – yes, Ashleigh, I said “butt” – about playing favorites with my kid, so Maya: congratulations. We’ll call you best player, even though I know you lied about practicing your ball skills at home.
Seriously, girls. Five minutes a day. It’s not that hard.
Anyway, Jenna, even though you weren’t officially the best, you had a great season. I know I got a little cranky that last game, but that was because I found out your mom had called Coach Lance about being on his team next season, which violates about four different clauses in our divorce agreement, but the point is: my frustration, while directed at you, wasn’t about you. I was nothing but proud of you this year, watching you run around out there like a little version of me – a version that has a chance to grow up and be really, really successful. Not that your dad’s not successful, but you can’t go a hundred percent at work and at home, and I made my choice, and that’s not a complaint, it’s just a fact. But I’d do anything for you, Jenna, I hope you know that. So maybe next time you’ll at least mention that you’ve had a secret tryout with Coach Lance, because I think that was the thing that really upset me.
Stella R., you also might want to mention to your folks that there’s a proposal for a new Metro stop by the convention center, so that neighborhood’s about to get hot.
Other Stella M., I think the best part of your game this year was your attitude. I mean, when Jenna and I came to your house for a play date, and I had that little misunderstanding with your mom? See, I thought it was going to be a parents play date, too, which is why you may have heard us talking in the kitchen about her not “feeling the same away” about me, which is often more about someone not being “ready,” but I don’t want to psychoanalyze your mom. Divorce can be stressful, and sometimes that makes us say things we don’t mean, like that it’s “creepy to use your daughter to get a date,” which is not what I was doing. Not at all.
You know what, though? You didn’t let it affect you. Even when your nanny suddenly started bringing you to practice, you just kept smiling, and I think that’s fantastic, and it makes me wonder if maybe your mom has started asking you about me – like how I’m doing, or how I’m looking lately – but if she hasn’t that’s fine, ‘cause I don’t know if I’m interested anymore, either. So we’re even. All good. No biggie.
Anyway, come on up and get your trophies. Emma, the first one’s for you. I notice your dad hasn’t been around lately. Maybe you and Jenna want to have a play date sometime? I’ll talk to your mom after juice and doughnuts.
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