Welcome to “Ponderings from the Pitch,” the blog you’ve been waiting for—a collection of soccer stories, essays and relevant nonsense offered free of charge by a person who is neither famous nor should be. That’s me of course.  If you’re looking for wisdom, sorry, wrong blog.  On the other hand, if you are looking to bide your time while mumbling “sure,” “of course,” “great point” during a conference call, or at the doctor waiting to find out what that strange new rash is all about, or on the phone listening to your mother discuss the exorbitant prices of water softeners, or waiting for something to happen while sitting in the top row of the bleachers during the early innings of a baseball game, well, you get the picture—this blog’s for you. 

Here’s my background.  I’m a soccer lifer.  I currently get paid to coach and administrate soccer and have since 1992.  I played the beautiful game (though not beautifully) from age 6 to 25.  I never played professionally—a unilateral decision based on evaluation of my talent. But I love the game, and perhaps more important, I love the process, the journey, the stories. Club, high school, college—you name it, I coached it. Obnoxious parents—I’ve got names and addresses.  Crazy players—check.  Coaching and administrative mistakes, I stopped counting.  Referees with personality disorders—listed first on their resumes. Heartbreaking losses, heroic wins, Shakespearean hubris, tragic deaths, escapades, tirades, melancholic moments of self-doubt, informed opinions, uninformed opinions, and the seemingly endless list of characters who have touched my life, and, hopefully if you read on, might touch yours—it’s all here.  

Admit it, I’ve piqued your interest—finally a blog full of stories about coaching, playing, administrating and living the game of soccer. For the most part, though, you could replace soccer with Rugby, Basketball, Cricket or Competitive Eating, and be reading the same story.  Drum roll please while I wax philosophical and pedantic: every story is about people.  If you write about a mountain, it’s your perspective on a mountain.  Hey, Walt Whitman, nonetheless, named his book Leaves of Grass. Or as Slick Willie might put it: “it’s people, stupid.” As you can see, I’m a very deep thinker. 

So c’mon, give it a read.  You’ve got at least another half hour before they call your number at the DMV.  

Oh yeah, names and all that stuff are for the most part changed.

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