Hmm. It's getting on toward that time of day, and this being Thursday, it can mean only one thing. Soccer practice for Middle and Little Girls and for Boy.

It is horribly hot today, but thankfully sunset comes a bit quicker every day to cool things off. Of course, dusk also means giant clouds of West Nile virus-laden mosquitoes swarming all over the place looking for moist, tender, little children to infect. Good thing we have the flocks of rabies-ridden bats to eat the mosquitoes. Ah well, at least the concession stand is open now.

Practice has gone pretty well for Rebecca--the girls on her team are relatively well-behaved and there's a lot less ball-hoggery than there was back in the spring. She's been playing up front more this go-round, and managed to score ten (10) goals during Tuesday's scrimmage.

Catherine's team just started practicing last Thursday, and today is only her second practice, but she seems to enjoy it to no end, and her coach is a hoot. Any woman who describes herself over the phone to a man she's never met before as "just sorta short and dumpy" while simultaneously laughing is pretty much okay in my book!

Jonathan, poor little guy, has been stuck on a team of mixed 9- and 10-year olds. The mixed squad is what is left of the kids who weren't quite fast or coordinated enough to be on a single 9 year old team or 10 year old team. Nearly to a boy, they are disruptive, short-attention-spanned, inconsiderate, snot-nosed, goofball brats. No one pays any attention to the coach (whose own son is on the team, and is the basis for the above description) and none of them even tries to play position. Little Boy tries so hard to do the right thing and play where he's supposed to and pass the ball to the open guys and all that stuff, and nearly gets run over by his own Ritalin-addled teammates trying to steal the ball from him. It's so frustrating for him, and made all the worse by the aforementioned coach, who dotes on the "aggressive" kids (who will get red-carded if they pull all that punching and tripping and shoving crap in a game) and who is your stereotypical loud-mouthed, smart-alecky, jackass. I hesitate to use the Y-word, because I don't wish to tar all of my brothers and sisters above the Mason-Dixon line with an unfair characterization, but dadgummit, I sure would be a lot happier with one less Pennsylvanian around here. (Although I doubt Pennsylvania would let him back in)

And there's no Breck Girl Mom this season. The closest equivalent is a bottle-blonde with a manufactured tan who makes a point of prissing around with tight bicycle shorts down below and a sports bra hanging out of her armholes-cut-way-too-big-on-purpose tank top. I assume the look is meant to convey that she is coming from or going to the gym, but with nary a sweat stain, pristine white sneakers, every mussed hair mussed perfectly, evening-at-the-club makeup, and diamond artillery hanging on every finger, one sorta wonders. Tom Wolfe called the society women in Bonfire of the Vanites either "lemon tarts" or "social x-rays"--this lady's a bit of combination--maybe the equivalent of a "tanning bed tart." At least she's not a loudmouth.
posted by Terry at 5:00:00 PM