The Day Soccer Died

A memory and a phrase

The Day Soccer Died

The Stanley Cup playoffs are well under way and in the second round. The Dallas Stars, who were not expected to do very well this season, massacred the Anaheim Ducks in the first round and advanced on to the next to play against the San Jose Sharks. After two games the Stars �own� the Sharks. The next game will be played Tuesday night here in Dallas.

Now why you might wonder am I writing about hockey when the title refers to soccer? First of all, ice hockey is nothing more than soccer on ice with all kinds of padding and the �weapon of choice� of course is the hockey stick. Even the rules are similar with one major exception! Hockey is the only sport where a player is not sent out of the game for fighting.

The second reason? Soccer was Chris�s favorite sport and then it was the Dallas Stars hockey team. He loved the Stars! You see for him it was a personal thing. He met the team and visited their training center and even in the locker room before games. Autographed this and autographed that covered the walls of his room. Hockey stuff and soccer stuff! Bill Guerrin was his favorite Stars player and Chris often wore the sweater that Bill had autographed for him.

On with the story, every three month Chris had a CF (Cystic Fibrosis) checkup which usually took most of the day. It was one checkup that I remember the most.

The one had gone very well. All his �numbers� were up; even his pulmonary test had improved by nearly 10%. He was feeling good and had gained a whole seven pounds. As was usual all of his CF doctors came in to the exam room to review the results and express how pleased they were that he had made such improvements.

Then they dropped the bomb! They insisted that he quit playing soccer. They were said that there was too much danger of him taking a blow to his liver which was somewhat enlarged or to his kidneys. They told him that it could be lethal if he got hit.

He argued. He pleaded. He said he would wear a flak jacket with padding but to no avail. They insisted he could not play the game he loved so much anymore.

The drive home was not good. Usually we stopped where he wanted for a late lunch but he was so upset he refused. He ranted and raged and even cried. He kept insisting that he would find some way to still be able to play. All I could do was try to convince him that his health was more important but he would not listen. It was playing soccer that had helped keep him healthy he said.
It just hurt so much to have to keep him from something he loved and done him so much good. But nothing I said had any effect.





In his anger he said �you just don�t remember; you just don�t remember what it�s like.�

�What do you mean I don�t remember� I asked him. Acting arrogantly offended I responded �I remember everything!�

I could see the anger begin to fade from his face just then. I knew I had him!

�I remember every trick you, Stephen and Aaron ever pulled.�

�Yeah? How about right after we moved into the house? The tricycle on the roof?�

Damn! I had to stop and think.

�Gotcha, old man!� he said finally smiling. �All that packing and foam you piled up beside the patio out back.�

Then the memory hit! Aaron had just turned nine, Stephen was eight, Chris was five and Laura was four. Where the boys went she went too. I was in the living room putting up the things I had unpacked. First one and then a minute or two later another would come running in the patio door and scramble upstairs. Out back I heard the screaming and laughter.

I stopped what I was doing and went out onto the patio and saw no boys, but when I looked up there on the roof were Aaron and Chris watching Stephen on a tricycle. Before I could yell off he flew down to land in the big pile of foam and packing.

Terrified he was hurt I rushed into the pile only to find him laughing so hard that he couldn�t get up. Up on the roof Aaron and Chris were screaming with laughter, just waiting their turn. Looking up to yell at them I saw Laura pulling herself up, just barely peeking over the window sill. Now I remembered how terrified I was.

�What about the Lincoln Log can?� Chris asked. �Too old to remember that, old man?�

Now there was nothing malicious in his �old man.� He had this loving, sarcastic way when we talked.

Back and forth we went, him getting the best of me each time. As we neared home he became very quiet so I left him to his own thoughts but I could see those �gears� turning.

Pulling into the driveway I turned the engine off and we both got out. He waited until I came around to his side. Then I could see that �gotcha� grin on his face.

�Dad, you have that old people�s disease!�





�I have what?�

�You know that disease where you forget things when you start getting old� he said with a grin.

�OLDSHEIMERS!� he said.

So now when I need an excuse for being a bit slow of step or thought or remembering I simply blame it all on �oldsheimers.�

Chris never did get to play soccer again. When the Stars played he was either at the game or parked in front of the TV yelling and encouraging every hit, every goal, every save the goalie made.

If I could tell the Stars anything it would be �Beat the Sharks Tuesday night for Chris!�

Reviews

[Wildfleour]

Bob - I read this with a lump in my throat. My youngest daughter has health issues, and they are mild compared to Chris, but I know the anguish of being a parent and having to tell a child 'You can't because...".

It is too painful to bear.

Thank you for sharing this time with us.

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I happen to love your writing...this really should not be my favorite...but it is. You live in this.