The Start of Soccer Season or Enthusiasm, and Its Benefits

Soccer season began this weekend, and my natural inclination is to spend this entire posting crowing about the game. However, to cater to the less sports-inclined among my readers I will focus on enthusiasm, an attitude with which I'm well acquainted. Webster's Dictionary defines enthusiasm as "supernatural inspiration or possession; inspired ecstasy; intense or eager interest; fervor or zeal." To be an enthusiast is to be "an ardent supporter." Enthusiasm, meet your human relatives: me and my family.
My boys awoke this past Saturday at 7AM. My older boy dressed quickly for his soccer game and entered my room. "Daddy," he said breathlessly,"get up! We're missing Chelsea versus West Ham." He was referring to the English Premier League match. He was excited. We had been discussing European professional football at great length this summer (see my earlier postings), but had yet to see a match televised. I, then, heard my younger son approach. I expected him to enter with his Saturday fixture: "can we watch Hotwheels Battle Force Five?" What I saw near moved me to tears. Fully dressed in his Brazilian Football Kit (official jersey, official shorts, and official socks), he said, "daddy, get up. Soccer." I was feeling very excited about the pro-soccer vibe, but my youngest son's next question made me even happier. "Daddy, can I wear my cleats while we watch the game?" With contented smiles, we went downstairs to watch Chelsea versus West Ham. It was a Rockwellian scene if there's ever been one. A proud father and his two boys (both in full soccer uniforms).
After watching the soccer game for a little bit, it was time to go to my older son's soccer match. It was a thrilling affair for various reasons. On a personal level, I was juggling the soccer ball like a seasoned pro. With ease, I dribbled the ball around my younger son and one of his kindergarten friends. I looked and felt good. I belonged on the football pitch. Perhaps more important from a paternal/mature adult level was my younger son's skill. He can really kick the ball, he's fast, and gives off a loose, relaxed, yet talented vibe that evokes Ronaldhino. Most importantly of the various factors that made my eldest son's match a thrilling affair was his play. We played a team with exceptional goal-tenders. Still, our best player (and my son's best friend) scored the first goal. I recognized this game plan. My son's friend would score a bunch of goals and we would coast to victory on his coattails. Or would we? My sons' opponents were well-coached and battle-worn. They did not give up easyily. Indeed, they scored the next three goals. One of these goals was scored on my son, but he still acquitted himself well in goal. Into half-time we went, down 3-1. In my head, I was repeating the mantra "it's not about winning or losing; it's about having fun." Second half starts. My son gets off a couple of excellent shots on goals. Both blocked. My son's good friend (our, as of yet, sole goal-scorer) blasted an excellent shot that bounces off of the back of the goalie's head. No goal. It seems we will have to go home with the bitter taste of defeat in our mouth's. Nay and nay. My son, no longer playing goalie, received the ball to the right of the opposing goalie (from the edge of the goalie's box). With tremendous force and velocity, he blasted the ball off his foot as if shot from a cannon. GOAL GOAL GOAL GOAL GOAL GOAL GOAL GOAL. But we still trailed by one point. Surely, someone would step up and score the trying goal. But who? Soon the answer came. My son received (poetically enough) a crisp pass from his friend. But at too sharp an angle for a clear shot on goal. With a slight step to the right, my boy once again uncorks a vicious strike . Once again, the sweet satisfaction of a goal. He tied the game. It remained tied. There is true honor in a draw. Particularly in a draw secured in such exciting fashion.
Now, can one draw a direct line from my enthusiastically pushing soccer all summer and the wonderful events of this Saturday morning? Did enthusiasm play a role? I'll let others decide, but one cannot deny that the "inspired ecstasy" [of my boys' and I] had created a "fervor and zeal" that facilitated frequent practicing and thinking about soccer that lead to some very favorable results. Also, being "ardent supporters" of the sport made watching Chelsea versus West Ham fun.
Later Saturday afternoon, I was playing (believe it or not) soccer with my boys when I decided we needed a rest (I did anyway). I told my boys that there was a video on the computer that I wanted them to see. I had been reading an article in Sports Illustrated about big wave surfing, an awe-inspiring endeavor in which people attempt to surf waves of up to 100 feet. I had decided to find footage of this sport on Youtube to show my boys. I thought that the combination of the surfer's bravery and skill and the wave's awesome power would appeal to my boys. My older boy declined to watch the video. He stayed downstairs to continue kicking the soccer ball. My younger son and I went to watch the videos of Laird Hamilton, best big wave surfer of all time. As we watched the video, I was describing to my son just how powerful and dangerous these waves were. I told him that while these waves are cresting the space created is so huge that an office building could fit inside. I told him a story of a surfer who was sucked under by one of these huge waves and shot underwater 500 meters by the force created. (There's nothing like a good Sports Illustrated article to engender the proper sense of wonder in an event). So, we watched in silence as this incredibly brave man surfed through this monstrous wave. After a time, I looked over my shoulder to see if my son was equally awed by what we were seeing. I turned more fully, to find my son in a perfect surfer's pose (we don't surf, but he looked like the guy we were watching). His legs were bent at the knees, his hamstrings flexing. He had his front arm extended as if trying to point toward the shore. His back arm was stretched behind him at an 120 degree angle, feeling for the wave just as Laird Hamilton was. His concentration was absolute. He was feeling this moment. He was riding the big wave. In our study, on the rug, in safety, he was surfing the biggest wave in the world. Once he was done with the wave, he looked at me. The expression in my boy's face could only be described as inspired ecstasy.
My wife has begun running recently, and yesterday, she had a 5K race. There was a 1K race for kids that was run just prior to the adults' race. My younger son did not feel like participating. He was probably a little overwhelmed by the hubbub. My older boy did run. And he ran really well. He was so inspired that he wants to run in a 5K that my wife is doing in November (many parents run 5Ks with their kids). "That was so awesome," he gushed to my wife as we drove home, "can we go on a run this afternoon?" Yes, occasionally enthusiasm can be exhausting, but the good outweighs the bad by far.
Sports-related enthusiasm is not the only sort that is in the air. My boys, due entirely to my wife's passion for it, are very enthusiastic gardeners. My younger boy, oddly, loves to participate in the growing of and eating, raw, of Swiss Chard. The truism different strokes for different folks applies to enthusiasm as well. On the topic of different strokes for different folks, my older boy LOVES going to our neighbor's house to help her pull weeds. She is an excellent gardener and often shares her spoils with us. Yesterday, my older boy said, in response to her suggestion that he pick some blueberries that she had grown, "but I feel so bad. We're always taking the stuff that you grow." "It's a pleasure," she said, "I love giving the fruit to you because you're always so enthusiastic!" Score yet another point for the virtues of enthusiasm.
Enthusiasm benefitted our house in another way, yesterday. My wife asked my boys and I what we wanted for dinner. She had run the 5K race earlier in the day, so I suggested that we make something easy. Both boys had a different opinion. "Make paella," they screamed in cheerful unison, "we love your paella. It's so good. So delicious. So wonderful. We need it. Please." At this, my younger son raised his pointer and middle fingers to his lips, kissed them, then sent off peace signs to display his approval/love of paella. He did this rapidly, sending out kissed peace-signs by the hundreds. Simultaneously, my older boy got up and joyfully, for lack of a better word, shook his booty. He danced his affirmation of the dinner choice. My wife, who had looked pretty tired beforehand, smiled and was given energy from the boys' reaction to her question. "Alright," she said, "we'll have paella."
In one weekend, enthusiasm's finger-prints were all over a super soccer experience, a joyful jogging experience, the getting of tasty berries from our neighbor, and a delicious paella for dinner. This weekend, enthusiasm resulted in positive outcomes. Sometimes, there might not be many positive outcomes to be found. Yet still, enthusiasm is of great use. One can skirt the treacherous depths of sadness, riding the positive energy of enthusiasm like a young big wave surfer pointing toward shore.