The Soccer Star

I haven't had anything of a technical nature to discuss for awhile so I decided to write something else; just to keep the blog going. You know, my two readers might get upset if they thought my blog site was getting stale. It wouldn't be right to let them down. Gotta stay in the game!! So, here goes....

Problem: Did anyone ever ask you to tell them something about yourself that not many people would know? Something that would be really hard for people to guess about you? Well, it's not easy, at least it wasn't for me. Someone wanted this information for a little game they were planning for a Christmas party. Knowing this, I didn't want to tell them any of the more seedy parts of my past, and have it come out at a huge Christmas party. God forbid that! So, I had to think long and hard for material I could use that wouldn't embarrass the hell out of me and everyone else. What could it be ...... hmmmmm ...... let's seeeeeee ........ ?

Solution: I got it!! I told them that I lettered in soccer in high school. Yeah, that's the ticket. Pretty good, eh? If it ever came up in other conversation, no one could dispute it because it's the truth. I even have the old letter around somewhere to show people, if necessary. This was the perfect thing because, number 1) it's true, number 2) not many people know about it and number 3) it even sounds pretty good!

Anyhow, if they only knew the whole story they wouldn't be so impressed. I'm not afraid to say this here because, as I said before, I only have two readers. And I trust that they, of all people, wouldn't rat on me. They never have before. In fact I'm sure they probably dismiss everything I say shortly after I say it, let alone remember to tell my dirty little secrets. So, here's the true story about my stellar soccer career....

It was the Fall of 1960 and I was a Junior in high school. For whatever reason, Newark High School decided to get into soccer as a school sport, a big step for American schools in those days. Most of us had heard of soccer at one time or another. We knew it was played other places, but not here; I had seen one soccer game in my life, to that point, and I remembered that it was a bunch of old men from other countries in some sort of pick-up game or local league that I just happened upon in a nearby town. The whole thing looked sort of sad to me. Now, NHS was offering it as a varsity sport. Well, as you might expect, none of the established jocks in school would have anything to do with soccer. All the other major "American" sports were keeping them busy. So, it looked like no one was going to even go out for the team. I'm not sure how I even heard about it. It was probably one of the long list of things my older brother dragged me into. I was such a follower. All he had to say is something like, "Hey you! Wanna play some soccer? (I was 10 years old before I realized that "Hey You" wasn't really my name, but I still answered to it). "Yeah, I guess I'll play". So, that was it. All we had to do is sign up and we were on the team. I guess they were afraid that if they had actual try outs they would never have gotten 11 players for an official team. As it turned out, there was only one guy on the team who had ever played soccer before. His name was Peter Jost (pronounced Yost), an exchange student from Hungary, the only one who knew before we started that we weren't supposed to touch the ball with our hands.

The coach was the Ag teacher. I remember feeling sorry for that poor guy. He didn't seem to know a lot about soccer either and I wondered how he got roped into this thing. I imagined that he was hanging around the teachers' lounge one day when the principal walked in and announced the soccer program and demanded a volunteer to coach the team. I'm sure there was a lot bobbing and weaving to get out of the line of fire, and our poor Ag teacher, being a rather big guy, couldn't get out of sight fast enough. His fate was sealed. He spent the rest of the season shepherding around the worst set of misfits encountered in his career. There was at least one good outcome from choosing the Ag teacher for the coach. Most of his students were actual farm boys, some of which he conscripted to play on the team. They didn't know anything about the game, either, but what they brought was some serious toughness. This came from years of hay bailing, cow poking and other hard work on the farm. Most of them would just as soon kick your ass as say hello to you in the hallway. Anyhow, they took out most of their aggression on the other teams, which was fine with me.

So, early in the season we all figured out that Peter could actually handle the ball with his feet which was quite an asset. I have to give the guy a lot of credit for sticking with the hopeless lot of us. I can still see the frustration on his face as we tried to learn the game. I really don't know why he stayed. I guess it's possible that he was amused by our horrible incompetence and was savoring the experience for when he got back home. At any rate, he was really good and the rest of us were really bad. The name of the game that year became Get-The-Ball-To-Peter. It was the only chance we had of staying in any of the games. I guess I don't have to tell you that we lost every game that season. As good as Peter was, he simply couldn't be a one man team. He tried. And we tried to help him, but alas, it wasn't happening. The best we could do that year was a moral victory. There was an especially annoying opponent playing defense for our arch rival. During the course of the game he pushed one of our Ag boys just a little too far. As I mentioned before, these Ag guys were very close to edge anyhow, and it wasn't wise to cross them. So, our Future Farmer of America knocked the guy down and kicked his teeth out. Not a pretty site but par for the farm. Hey, I know it wasn't like winning, but it was the best we could do.

So, the season ended, Peter was off the hook, the FFA guys got rid of some anger and we actually learned something new. We were Soccer Players. Not elite athletes like the football players, basketball players and wrestlers, but we had participated in a varsity sport. And as varsity sports go, there were letters to go around. I don't know if this is a big deal anymore, but back then it was something to be proud of. The only one who deserved a letter was Peter, but the coach had at least six or eight of them to award to this new varsity team and he was determined to hand them out. All of the Seniors got one by default. I was one of the two or three Juniors to get one; a big thrill for me. I have to say the thrill didn't last too long. None of us noticed at the time we were issued the letters, but the small ball shape on the letter, indicating the sport we were in, didn't look much like a soccer ball. In fact it looked more like a basketball. In fact, I think it was a basketball. The guys on the varsity basket ball team were understandably (and noticeably) upset. We didn't wear the letters around for very long.

You see, the American high school sports world just wasn't ready for soccer in 1960. It appears that the sports gear manufacturers either didn't know what a soccer ball looked like or they didn't care. I can hear them now when the order was placed: "What did that coach call it Iggy? Sucker? No? Then what was it? Socker, you say? Spell it then. S-O-C-C-E-R? You sure? .................. Never heard of it. Whadaya think the ball looks like? They didn't say? Well, let's just use a basketball; the kids won't know the difference". And we didn't.

Anyhow, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Like I said earlier, this is a little embarrassing but I'm not too concerned since this is going out to only two trusted readers. I know you guys might be tempted to tell this story to others, but I'm hoping you'll just keep it among us. Shhhhhhh ......... and Merry Christmas!!!