Flying Solo

So for those of you who know me, you know that I love the game of soccer or futbol as they call it here in Deutschland. I love it so much that I was willing to get cable for two months just to watch the world cup. So, needless to say, one of the things that I wanted to do while I am here is to get involved in some kind of soccer. I didn't care if it was going to the local pro team to watch games or to play on base.

Like most things in Deutschland I haven't quite figured out how the local soccer league works. What I have figured out is if you walk down to the local field or pitch (I'm trying to educate you here) you will find some info in Deutsch that you can't read or understand, and despite how long you stare at it hoping it will miraculously translate itself it just doesn't happen. But I'm determined, right! So I write down the website, load it into google chrome, which only half translates it, and get the number for the local coach. If I understand it correctly, each village has its own local team. Then the villages play each other. So when I called up the coach, whom I thought was the local coach, he informed me in somewhat broken English that he was no longer the coach.  But he was going to be helpful and "SMS" me the number for he new coach.

So I phoned the coach. When he answers the phone I offer a German greeting and tell him my name...in German. Or at least I hope that's what I said.  He speaks much better English than the previous guy and tells me to show up at the pitch on Tuesday at 7pm. And so, I do.

Now I want to say before I go on that by no means do I think I am the best player, heck I don't even think I'm mediocre. What I can say is that I know who I am as a player.  I know my limits and abilities, and so going into this my plan was not to be the American who tries to show the Germans that Americans can play soccer.  I was going to play it safe and conservative.

Right before I leave to go to practice Tara says to me, "So, are you nervous?" Looking back on it now, I was pretty nervous.

So I show up as directed. And as I watch all of the guys filter in the nervousness and anxiety start to build more and more with each passing moment. I see a guy who looks like a coach (don't ask me how, I just knew).  I tell him who I am and that I spoke with Alex about playing for the team. He tells me that he is also the coach, and at this point despite my best effort to at least appear (apparel-wise) like a futbol player he seems less than impressed. He asks me if I have my boots (cleats), and then shows me to the locker room. Once in the locker room the stares some how increase. The looks I'm getting now are "who is this new guy." Oh and did I forget to mention that it's Mustache March, so I'm totally rocking an awesome pornstache! I get myself together and head to the pitch. The coaches say a lot of things in German that I don't understand, and then everyone, at once, looks at me. I subtly wave indicating not only to them, but to me how uncomfortable this really is.

Everyone grabs a ball and starts doing some drills, the coaches periodically give me instruction in English but for the most part I just did what everyone else was doing. After about 45 minutes worth of drills and running, we play a short ball game. I think this was the moment where the tide turned for me. I played smart, calling for the ball, play the short easy ball, not taking to many touches, moving into space. It wasn't perfect but I think it was enough. With about 30 minutes left, we played a half field scrimmage. It was at this point that some of the guys were starting to actually communicate with me. Calling me by name and playing me the ball with some confidence. I played some good balls and actually made a couple of balls hit the back of the net (no keepers). After the practice the coach came over and asked me some questions. He told me it was a good practice for me, and that the next practice is on Thursday at 7. I guess that means I made it past round one.

But it doesn't end there. I walk back to the locker room to change my boots and collect my things. The rest of the guys are inside as well. They are on the side where the showers are, I'm on the other side....by myself.  One of the guys who really made an effort to not exclude me and who looks like he is 12 (he was probably 17-18) pokes his head around the corner, calls me by name, and hands me a beer (beer and sprite actually, and it was good). With the cap still on it, I gesture for a bottle opener. He takes the beer from me, places it against the beer crate, and slams his hand on the top of the beer forcing the lid off. He then hands me the beer and says, "practice." One of the other guys holds out his non-alcoholic beer (because even though he is old enough to drink, he isn't old enough to drink and then drive) so we can toast one another. I extend my bottle allowing the two to "clank."  A smile crosses my face, I guess I didn't do so bad.

-Jeremy