We arrive when the mist is still rising off the field. I unfold my chair, settle its legs into soft earth and sink back into my book. The players look a little foggy too having been scooped out of warm beds, coaxed into uniforms and shoved into cars for the hour drive with a granola bar and a water bottle bigger than their heads. One by one they drop gear and begin making zigzags with balls around cones in the short-cut grass.
The wide expanse is quiet except for what soon becomes a steady pitter-patter of cleats. We parents aren’t yet bright-eyed enough for pleasantries but manage a curt “Mornin’” as each one approaches and the unspoken question filling in the edges of Sunday morning is: “Why are we here again?” Read more →