Soccer heartbreak

It has been a thrilling soccer season for the L-man. His team has been a dominant force from the beginning, and they spent the season hammering each and every opponent. This, of course, had given way to a certain cockiness from my son, who was completely convinced that they'd win the final tournament, hands down. Alas, it was not to be on Sunday morning. In the semi-finals, a much improved and hungry purple team defeated the ginger squad, 2-1. A close one, and almost too stressful to watch at times. (I must add, at this point, how I've often found the stereotype of the soccer mom a bit mock able: thirty-something woman screams insanely from the sidelines while sipping Tim Horton's coffee, you get the picture. I find myself becoming this woman, now - how did that happen? Is watching my kid play soccer so thrilling? Well, in fact, it is. And I was screaming with the best of them yesterday)

There were quite a few tears from the boys: surprise, and huge disappointment. This is a good lesson for life, I know, and a hard one for my son to experience. We talked about being a good loser, and not criticizing the referee or the other team's play. He's a good little player, and, after the waves of disappointment wash away, he'll be keen to be back next season, with his soccer mom right beside him.