Reflection / John Shaughnessy

A wonderfully ridiculous sports season and the touching bonds between dads and children

It’s the most ridiculous and unnecessary sports season I have ever witnessed, so why do I miss it already and why does it especially make me miss my dad?

If you have ever watched a soccer league game involving 3- and 4-year-olds, you immediately know why I consider such a sports season ridiculous and unnecessary. Tiny children in oversized jerseys—that make them look even smaller—running up, falling down and tripping over each other on a field together, all of them trying to converge on a round ball at the same time, like competing swarms of bees and ants on a dropped popsicle.

And yet, as the proud grandfather of one of those 4-year-old athletes, that league has given me so many reasons to smile this spring while also offering some scenes that I have never seen before in sports.

In what other sports league, in the middle of a game, would two players suddenly decide to start playing in the dirt in the middle of the field, drawing other players to stop and join in the magical lure of dirt?

In what other sports league would a spectator, a fellow grandfather, run onto the field, pick up his granddaughter who hasn’t kicked the soccer ball once in the first six games, and swing her back and forth when the ball comes her way, making a contact with the ball that leaves the crowd cheering and the grandfather and his granddaughter smiling?

And in what other sports league do all the fans from both teams line up at the end of the game and form a tunnel so the players from both teams can run through it to the cheers of everyone?

It’s a league where none of the players worry about the final score, where they just worry that the parent in charge of the post-game snacks has fulfilled this awesome responsibility.

Admittedly, there was a time when I scorned such a league for what I considered too-young players. After all, I come from a generation where neighborhood children gathered on open diamonds, grass fields and asphalt courts and made our own games, kept our own rules. But I also realize times have changed, and we now live in a world where it apparently takes five former coaches/players to do a post-game analysis of a pro football game, where a college athlete can sometimes make more money in college than the pros, and where professional leagues promote gambling sites yet suspend their players if they gamble.

I could long for that bygone era of my youth, but the world ever changes, and I’ve learned that you have to embrace the beauty and joy that life gives you during its different seasons. And I’ve found those gifts this spring in the joy and beauty of 3- and 4-year-olds who play a game that makes the parents and grandparents of opposing teams cheer for and celebrate everyone.

Besides, what I really long for at times comes when I watch these tiny kids interacting with their dads. I miss those shared moments of sports that I had long ago with my three now-grown children. And at this time—five years since my dad died—I especially miss the countless moments I shared with him when a ball connected us in so many ways beyond sports.

That feeling leads me to both tears and smiles. It draws me once again to those cherished moments as a dad and as a child who was loved by his dad.

That feeling even draws me a little closer to God, a Son who would do anything for his Father, a Father who shares his love, his tears and his smiles with us, his children.
 

(John Shaughnessy is the assistant editor of The Criterion.) †