Morning Fog

It’s 5:30 AM on a Saturday morning and the fog is meandering. The sun is making its way over Lake Michigan and the cool air is being nudged beneath the horizon. My car, parked on the street, is a few blocks away, which is obnoxious when returning home but a gift in the morning. The crows, those hecklers behind the leaves, are squawking their morning critique as an elderly couple smiles in my direction. The light patter of an ambitious runner with less body fat than my ankles interrupts my morning thoughtlessness. As I watch him disappear into the haze, I’m jealous of his fitness and then decide to purchase a Chai Tea. Tea is healthy. Chai is not. It’s a morning shot of sugar, milk and caffeine, and it goes deliciously into my brain.

My first game begins at 7:00 A.M. On the drive, I pace myself through my plans. The U15 boys will rotate lineups and focus on transition from defense to attack. The U13 girls will start the same group every game, and their themes are composure, composure and more composure – a coach can never be bored with repetition.

The morning drive music is Tom Waits “Old 55,” and I play it over and over because it feels right: “The suns coming up, I’m riding with lady luck, freeway, cars and trucks, stars beginning to fade, and I lead the parade.”

At 6:10 A.M. I arrive at the soccer park but the fog still hasn’t lifted. I imagine the places I might be, including still in bed, if coaching wasn’t my profession. The options are endless and awesome. In a misty smoke of orangish sun-crisped silhouettes, my players slowly make their way to our field. Soon I’ll join them, leaving a brief trail of green footprints on the shimmering dewy field and I’ll know – there’s no other place I’ve ever belonged more.