“Soccer is a great sport for little kids!”

“Anyone can run around and kick a ball!”

“It’s a waste of a perfectly good football field!”

“Ties are stupid.”

“90 minutes of nothing happening.”

“The only way to improve it, is to put a flaming pit in the middle of the field!”

“How am I supposed to coach a baseball team, when I have players who’d rather play soccer on their club team?”

Yeah, I was that guy. I’m not proud of myself, but it’s who I was. How did I become a member of a supporters group? Am I a double agent for the anti-soccer militia? Should you be wary in my presence, shaking in fear of an enemy infiltrator in your midst? Have no worries! I’m one of you now. I’m a true believer, a comrade in arms. How did this transformation occur? Longtime friends of mine consider my change of attitude and action similar to the conversion of Saul, or if not that dramatic, at least on par with The Beatles evolution in 1965.

As changes in life often do, they happen slowly, at the urging or example of those who are closest to you. In my case, it was the interests of my two oldest kids, a daughter, and a son. They both played recreational soccer as five-year-olds. I was fine with it. It gave them an activity until they could play a “real sport”, like baseball. A funny thing happened on their way to Cooperstown. They liked soccer! They really liked it! “Oh no, what am I going to do now?”, I shrieked, as I broke into a cold sweat at the thought of my kids going by one name and having a weird Euro haircut. A little chronological perspective is probably in order now. This occurred in 1998 or so. I’m not really certain of the date. My brain lost all track of time and space due to the trauma of potentially becoming a soccer dad. Regardless, it was before the Brandi Chastain goal and the ensuing celebrity status of Mia Hamm and the rest of the USWNT. Soccer was still on the hazy tunnel vision fringe of the majority of American sports fans’ perspective.

As time progressed, they both continued to play at increasingly more advanced levels. As they played for the local select club, I became more aware of some of the skill and athleticism needed to be a good player at their level.

Each was a good player in their own way. My daughter became a hard-nosed defender. Think of her a short Dekel Keinan. My son had a knack and a true talent for the game. Most importantly he had a passion to be the best player he could be. After a winter practice at Wall2Wall in Mason, my son wanted to stay after his practice and watch Cincinnati United Premier practice. We did. He chased loose balls for them and watched and listened intently to the coaching and the drills. On the way home, he said, “I’m going to play on that team when I’m old enough!” It was at this point the lightning bolt knocked me off my horse. If he was going to be passionate about soccer, then it was my duty as a “great dad” to not only support his efforts but to learn as much as I could about the game. I started paying attention to the coaches at practice. Fortunately, his coaches were more than willing to explain the game to an old baseball guy when I asked questions after practices. After that, it was simply evolution. I absorbed as much as I could. I wasn’t easy but I became a fan of the sport itself, not just my kids or my kids’ teams.

They both played for their high school teams. And yes, my son did play for Cincinnati United Premier when he was old enough.