Feature: This Is Soccer

A slightly mad Englishman named Denny Bates found a group of us too-skinny-for-football kids sometime around the third grade, put us on a field with the round ball and taught us to "kick the bloody hell" out of it.

I was a great player. In fact, one of the best, but only at night when I was dreaming. During the day I had a lot more heart than talent.

Later, when the team was without a coach, my dad -- although he knew little about the game -- came to our rescue. He drove miles out of his way to pick up anyone who needed a ride, bought uniforms, bought cleats for those who couldn't afford them, and drove my team-mates and I all over the state. And we did well, winning much more than we lost, including several championship titles. Throughout the ups-and-downs of a father-son relationship, when we couldn’t talk about anything else, we always had soccer.

I'm in search of the Beautiful Game, the beauty, the brilliance, the Faustian bargains, the individual and the team. Thanks for reading.

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Earl G. Lundquist Earl G. Lundquist

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