Fall Soccer 2010

You never notice just how immobile you are as an old coot--the term I use instead of the tasteless term Old Fart--until you suddenly encounter a group of kids.

You marvel at their energy levels, their contortion abilities, their tolerance of freaky, geeky sounds and motions.

I figure the person, who originally developed the concept karma, stood in the midst of a large group of young children. This poor old wretch, while watching the mass of wiggling, laughing, shouting, scratching, teasing, hitting, kicking, jumping and doing everything else they could do with excess energy, stood with this sort-of Elvis twitch.

If you are over the age of 25, you know what I'm talking about. I say sort of, because your lip suddenly begins to quiver, and then it slides into a sneer. It's a grotesque look, somewhere between Elvis, Forrest Gregg and Dick Cheney. It's the look you get, because you know that it is not politically correct to scream "SHHHHUUUUTTTT UP!!!!!"

So you sneer, and make these quiet muttering sounds as you clench both fists. Your head and hands may even begin to quiver a bit, ever so slightly. It's what you find yourself doing, especially if it's been one of those difficult days that occasionally happen, or it may have been a glorious day: birds singing, sun shining, clouds sailing across a blue sky toward a distant horizon.

It doesn't matter, because the noise and the motion is real, real irritating. And then you get this epiphany. First, you think something stupid. I could never have been that obnoxious.

Then it happens. It's called enlightenment. Either you remember doing or saying or shouting something you now watch helplessly, or a friend standing by you reminds you when you did the same thing and worse.

Karma, that's what they call it. Others say, "What comes around, goes around." But I always preferred to use that phrase just before I did something as a reaction to someone's doing something bad to me.

And then I became an old coot. I stand, trying to portray the ultimate picture of serenity.

The sun sinks deeply into the sky, staining the edges of clouds with a taste of red and orange and yellow. Azure sky begins to fade a bit. It's what it does before turning cobalt blue.

Serenity! That's the ticket. I breath through the nose and exhale through my mouth.

I do it slowly--eyes shut slightly, mind focused on a pure calm moment of ecstasy.

You begin to realize how much fun it was to be young, to be tireless, to be obnoxious. You remember times when you could dance with arms flailing and legs prancing, as you moved in a circular pattern to the sounds of Iron Butterfly or The Doors or Creedence Clearwater.

Now my arms flail only when I trip or stub my toe.

I've never figured why I do that. Even if I had wings, it would take very large ones to get a body like mine into the air. And even at that, someone would eventually watch me fall after a short distance out of sheer exhaustion.

"Oh, the humanity," bystanders would say, as they watch me fall plummet toward the hard ground.

But when I see the picture of all these little ones, I remember teammates, who once played with me on the field so long ago, and I remember doing everything I saw today and more, but most importantly, I remember just how fun it all was.