Today was my youngest's 2nd soccer game.  He's 4, which in our house, is a little young to play a sport (I usually make them wait until 5), but the poor thing gets carted around so much between his brother and sister and their activities that I figured I would bend the rules this time.  Besides, both his siblings have done soccer and he's been dying to do it too (naturally).

His team named themselves Orange Crush.  Sounds fierce, right?

Turns out, not so much.  Today, one kid kept crying and running off the field.  We assumed T would have some idea of what to do out there after spending so many years watching the game.  Alas, we assumed incorrectly.  He runs around and does a good job of "hustling" without doing much else.  He practices his fierce, competitive face.  He looks at bugs.  And sometimes he just falls for no reason. 

This week, they got slaughtered.  SLAUGH-tered.

By Jello.

That was the name of the team.  Jello.  Last week, they got creamed by the Yellow Bunnies (which was clearly named by the angelic looking little girl that scored 5 goals).

Today, the other team got 7 goals in the first quarter.  Which is only 15 minutes.  I think the end score was 22 to 1.  Luckily, score keeping is discouraged.  But T got a goal today -- yahoo!  Of course, it was for the other team...


Williams Shakespeare was right.  What's in a name?  Clearly, nothing.

It's good entertainment at least.  And a good reminder that every child is different. Each is an individual with their own likes and dislikes and talents and passions.  Time will tell whether soccer scores with him.  My guess is probably no.  Sometimes you can just tell.

In the meantime, Orange Crush will continue to one.  And that's OK.  They'll all be victorious one day.


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