Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Volunteer Schmolunteer

There it was, the email asking for parent volunteers. Guilt ensued. My kid is a senior and the least I could do is sign myself up for something to help out his soccer team. So I did it. I bit the bullet. I was now deemed the writer for our local small town newspaper for articles on our games. I figured I love to write and I will be at the games anyway, so why not. It seemed like the perfect fit until I attended the first game.

I don’t think I realized how much I don’t pay attention to the details of the game, until it was my parental/team volunteer duty to do so. Instead of jotting down notes of who scored left footed with perfect placement in the corner of the goal assisted by John Doe who passed it from the 18 avoiding the slide tackle from the defender, I was thinking about laundry. And 10 million other things. Had I written the article from the thoughts in my mom brain infested by attention deficit disorder it would’ve gone something like this:

Eight and half minutes into the game, I regretted my decision to wear long sleeves in 85 degree heat. Sure, it was my awesome new shirt supporting our team, but it would’ve been more appropriate for cooler weather. YES, we scored! Who passed that? Thirteen minutes into the first half I realized that I desperately need a printed roster of our team. Who are these new kids? I’m going to need a cheat sheet. Maybe I can print one tomorrow. I wonder if the coach has loaded it on That #14 is fast. Sweet, another goal! Nineteen minutes in, it hit me that I forgot to start the dryer. Will those clothes be musty by the time I get home? I’m going to be up half the night doing laundry now. Just great. Twenty eight minutes in, my exhausted brain zoned out as we scored another goal. Not a clue who it was or who passed it, but those hot dogs sure do smell yummy. I miss hot dogs. Damn diet has me craving random bits and pieces of animal crushed into a weiner. Nevermind, I don’ t miss hot dogs. The other team is going crazy. They scored. I better write that down. Sometime later in the first half after planning out my work week, writing a list of school supplies to be purchased, and sweating profusely because of this gosh darn long sleeve shirt, the game stopped. Man down. It appeared one of the kids from the other team got smashed in the nose. Do I add that to the article? Probably not a good idea. But there is so much blood! It kind of brings an excitement level to it, don’t you think? However, I feel for the parents. I am going to be pissed if my kid gets hurt and I have to spend six hours in the ER tonight. I don’t have time for that AND I have this article to write. And laundry to do. And school supplies to buy. Halftime. Whew. I am exhausted. This paying attention thing is hard.

The moral of this story is don’t volunteer. It’s too much pressure. I am certain to spell someone’s name wrong, give the wrong stat or, commit the worst high school sports article faux pas ever, call them a Freshman when they’re really a Sophomore.

So I apologize in advance Mebane Enterprise readers for my super vague articles that are really just a list of stats from the games. You get what you pay for! AND be thankful I didn't sign up to announce the games. Crisis averted for all. Now I’m off to wash a uniform that smells like my kid murdered a family of skunks. I miss hot dogs.

Over and out……..