Saturday was the end of season soccer “tournament” which was played on squishy grass and mud, in bone-chilling temps, with take-your-breath-away wind. As if that wasn’t enough, the “tournament” rules itself didn’t make much sense to me. It was double elimination, which means, it took two losses to be eliminated, except, there weren’t that many teams playing. So our girls played a team, beat them, but faced them again in the championship game, because they won their next match, and in the end, lost. This is a team that hadn’t lost all season. I guess 3 games in one day will do that to you.
The boys team, however, took their championship. They were in the championship because of forfeits, though, as their 2 previous teams bailed on them. My son was not pleased at all, to not play soccer all day, and to be advanced to the championship by default. The win, though, was still sweet.
In the end, after all the cold, the mix-ups, the crap we’d endured all season by this town, these teams, the refs, and everything, we were excited to see a medal draped around our kids’ necks, hopefully ending the season on a right note. Only that didn’t happen. As if to issue the final blow against us, after being told all that participate get a medal, when we went up to get our teams medals, we were told medals were only for their kids (the town we played in and against all season) and not for our children.
That made me one pissed off momma.
I mean, how do you buy medals for only YOUR children, when you HOST the tournament!?! Even if you didn’t want to buy for OUR kids, can’t you at least let us freakin’ know so we can do the same as you?
Needless to say, our children are getting trophies made as we speak, at a local trophy shop, and ALL of them, EVERY ONE OF THEM are going to get a medal.
As if I needed more reasons to dislike this area as much as I do.
Nonetheless, Sunday turned the sourness of Saturday around with a parents vs. kids game. In the bright sunshine – not too hot, not too cold. It was beautiful. And perfect. And we all had fun, even mom, running up and showin’ the young whipper-snappers a thing or two. Scoring too (on another parent who volunteered to goalie for them). They still kicked our butts, though, like 13-6. But that’s ok, because we had fun, we got some color on our skin, some fire in our hearts, some exercise in our rickety old-parental bones, and some great bonding made-of -awesome memories to look back on someday.
And a bruised boob.
Yup. Leave it to this breastfeeding momma to trip on a divot and fall on her left side, landing square on her almost-full boob. Ouchies.
Hey, at least I looked good. Haha.
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