Friday, May 11, 2012


Photo Credit: "B" Gordon
Off we go to Durango. Four and half hours of driving. This Mother's Day weekend is the annual occasion for the exodus of every competitive soccer player in the town of Los Alamos. We converge together in one idyllic hamlet in Colorado and watch our kids sweat, fall, grind their knees into mud and, after playing soccer for an hour and a half, start a pick-up game for fun by the playground. This year, Devin has been on crutches the last three weeks of the season. But, now, with the pain subsiding, we dare to hope he might be able to play at least a little.

Last year, his team went in dead last, rec players with some tournament experience and extraordinary coaching, marked as shark bait in the silver bracket. They lost the first game, but scored a goal, keeping their dignity. Second game, they played their buddies–the other half of the team that is coached by the same coach, and won, but without a sense of total satisfaction. Then, in the third game, they turned. They played harder than we had ever seen and won by a single point, near the end. We were elated. They were elated. Somehow, our team of rec players had won against a competitive team! Going into the fourth game, magic happened. Parents were falling off of their chairs, screaming hysterically. Kids with obvious injuries insisted on playing through. The team gelled. They were one organism, forged to attack. And they shut out their opponents. 4-0.

When we accompanied them to the awards stand, the boys were hopeful that they had won second place. And then, someone came out with the first place medals. Tears rolled down faces. Coaches looked like the new fathers in the delivery room. I kept reminding everyone of the Jamaican bobsledders who won the Olympics.

This time, his team is ranked as third of four in the gold bracket. Success may have taken away that moment of utter shock, that "Who me?" forever, as now they are winners, and great things seem par for the course.

But, as I drive up with the center mid-fielder who only recently threw off his crutches, who wanted to go and be there with the team that is like a family to him, whether he could play or not, I know that no matter what happens there this weekend, it will be a miracle.


  1. What a great story. And to happen in such an idyllic hamlet in the CO mountains (my heart still belongs to the Rockies) ... sigh. Beautifully told, as always.

  2. This is so sweet and wonderful I can barely stand it. I have a giant soft spot for center mid-fielders - the hardest working people in soccer. I hope the trip goes well and that Devin gets some time to run and do what he loves. That's the most important part, isn't it?


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Faith in Ambiguity by Tara Adams is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License