Choices or A Thoughtful Examination by a Thoughtful Person

All this blogging has made me a thoughtful man. In this vein, I decided that I would replay this past Saturday in my mind, evaluating some choices that I made. In this way, I might mold future choices emulating successful ones and avoiding less successful ones.
The first choice was actually presented to me before Saturday, and it was not a terribly difficult one to make. Still, there were issues to consider. A friend of mine, S, invited me and another friend to watch a MLS game (Seattle FC versus Toronto FC). S, who is a sociology professor teaching a course on soccer as a reflection of cultural, political and economic issues, was taking a group of his students to see the game (a nice perk for the students of any soccer-based course). The choice: should I go to the game? A no-brainer, but let's examine the issues anyhow, the most important of which is one of abandonment. Namely, am I mistreating my family by leaving them on a Saturday so I can watch a soccer game? Of course not. So, I chose to accept the kind invitation to the game.
Another choice, of seemingly little importance, turned out to be a good one. It involved my choice of shirt for the day. I do not have a Sounders soccer jersey, so I could not make the obvious dressing choice by wearing the home team's jersey. So, I went with the Spanish National Team (David Villa, number 7). This turned out to be a good choice, but not without a little complication. The positive: I stood out boldly, a clear soccer-aficionado, in the strong red color of the Spanish home jersey. As I was walking into the stadium, a voice shouted triumphantly "David Villa" (with correct pronunciation). Proudly, I acknowledged the acknowledgement with a raised fist. As I mentioned, my bold shirt had a slightly unexpected impact as well. I was immediately identifiable to the many people near the stadium who were asking for money. "Hey number 7, Got any change?" and "hey you, in the red shirt, can you help me out?" The above comments were made by two particularly unsavory (and drunk, I think) guys whose attention I could have done without. However, such is the price to pay when making a statement with one's clothes. Despite the unwanted attention, I was still contented with my choice. One can never go wrong with David Villa.
Perhaps the choice that had the most potential for going awry came soon after I entered the stadium. It involved that mystical item that I so covet: the soccer jersey. Now, my wife had wisely put me on a soccer jersey-restriction after my soccer jersey binge this summer. But, she surely wouldn't mind if I bought my boys some jerseys... So I did. And while I was doing that... I bought myself a sweatshirt (a very sweet one with adidas insignia, the Sounders crest, and stripes down the arms). How could I resist? It was the 'item of the match' (meaning it was on sale). But I didn't want to leave my wife out. She would look awesome in a smooth soccer training jersey. Should I buy her something? Or would it be wasted money (as I was pretty sure that she wouldn't be as enthusiastic about receiving a soccer jersey as my boys would be). I consulted one of my friends as to my course of action. "Should I call my wife and ask if she wants me to buy her something?" I wondered aloud, "keep in mind that she might not be totally pleased with my purchases at all as we had an understanding that I was done with soccer jerseys until the holidays." "Well," my friend advised, "if she says that you should return the stuff, will you?" "I hope not," I murmured lamely. "Still," my friend continued, "it is a good idea to offer to buy her something. It would be a nice gesture." So, I called. As it turns out, it was so loud in the stadium that my wife heard nothing that I said; I heard nothing that she said. So, all was good, right? "How'd it go?" my friend asked. "I think it went well," I said uncertainly, "I couldn't actually hear anything she said." We decided that that might be for the best. When I got home, I am happy to report, my choice to buy the gear turned out to be a good one. My wife smiled fondly (or resignedly) when she saw my new purchase. She also liked what I bought the boys. Both boys greeted the purchases with "cool!!!" My older son immediately put the jersey on and began to chant, "I love the Sounders, I love the Sounders." (Now, a day later, he is sitting beside me watching Chelsea versus Arsenal wearing the same jersey). Buying the soccer jerseys (and sweatshirt for me): good choice.
The game was a great time. It passed without any more choices of note. (Other than my bold decision to get an Italian sausage for lunch as opposed to a slice of pizza). Yet, I was greeted with another key decision as I bade my wife a pleasant evening (as she was departing for work). "What are you guys going to do for dinner?" my wife asked. "I don't know," I said, "pizza?" "Well," my wife pointed out, "we are probably going to order out tomorrow night, so maybe you can finish the sausages that we have in the fridge." [Maybe my decision to have a sausage at the game wasn't so bright, after all]. So, we had sausages, lentils, and peach cobbler. It was a successful meal, and quickly thrown together (left-overs); a plus, because we needed enough time enjoy the evening's entertainment, the Karate Kid (the original with Ralph Maccio).
This proved to be another good choice. No matter how many times I see that movie, it never fails to thrill me when Daniel uses the crane position to kick Johnny in the nose. The only reality that prevents the Karate Kid from being a totally positive choice is that my boys, for some inexplicable reason, think that Johnny (the movie's entitled, brutal villain) is cool. Are we not watching the same movie???!!!!??? Please!!!!!!!
After the movie, we decided to play a little soccer in the play room (despite the fact that it was 8:30 at the movie's end). This was not such a good decision. This became painfully (literally) clear when I preformed a smooth looking backward kick reminiscent of Ronaldhino. My older son, who was being valiantly aggressive in goal had slid in to block my shot. Unaware, I solidly kicked him in the stomach. Once I saw what I had done, I, of course, attended to my injured boy. Poor thing. As I knelt down to try to make him feel better, my boy rolled around in a pseudo-fetal position moaning, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die." Luckily, he felt better a moment later and we continued playing. I was careful not to try to emulate any other soccer-greats. Any choice that leads to kicking one's son in the stomach: bad decision, poor choice.
Also, my boys ended up going to bed considerably later than their 8:30 weekend bed-time. This, however, had a positive outcome. My wife returned home at 9:12. She found us in the basement, sweaty, but exhilarated from some crisp soccer. She greeted us warmly, clearly pleased to get the chance to help put the boys to bed. Her smile faltered a tad when my older son greeted her with "daddy kicked me in the stomach." I jest. What's a kick in the stomach amongst friends (or fathers and sons).
After the boys were put to bed, my wife chose to read upstairs. I retreated to the TV room to catch my figurative breath. In the peaceful quiet, I turned on the TV to relax: good choice.