The Soccer Mom

Mike asked me yesterday if I'm going to be a soccer mom. My response was that if Asher wants to play soccer, then by golly, I guess I'm going to be a sort of soccer mom. To be honest, I always enjoyed playing soccer and getting all aggressive out on the field in gym class. I regret not joining the team in high school; it is one of my very few regrets regarding that period of my life. I followed Manchester United when I lived in Key West, probably due to the fact that I was good friends with a fellow named Lindsay who happened to hale from Manchester. We would watch the games in he and his girlfriend Claire's living room while consuming large quantities of Guinness and Newcastle. American football really is quite lame in comparison to the football of the rest of the world. It's a pussy sport when compared to rugby. The only reason I get into football at all is if I have money in a pool. Now soccer is a real sport and one that I could actually follow and enjoy - if I had the time to take the time and watch.


Could I be a soccer mom? Sure. I won't be the mini-van driving, manicured, prim and proper soccer mom. I'll be the nappy-haired, tattooed and pierced, lifted Jeep driving soccer mom that pulls up to the field with the soothing sound of Clutch invading the eardrums of anyone caught listening to Top 40. I'll be the soccer mom that always feels slightly out of place but shows up every practice and game anyway because I love my kid and will support him in whatever he wants to do. I'll be Asher's biggest cheerleader even though I've always sneered at the cheerleader type. I can definitely pull off soccer mama.


Watch him want to play American football.


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