Strolling about during a scrimmage at practice tonight, happily admiring my reunited Nike Mercurial Vapor Superflies, when one of the boys has a sudden outbreak of unrestrained dribbling. Every time he gets the ball, this guy starts off on these mazy runs, beating three and four defenders at a time while wearing this ridiculous grin. Twice he finishes off the moves with goals.
‘Eh, what’s that about?’ I ask when I pull him to the sideline and get in his face.
‘I want to be like Lionel Messi,’ he replies far too cheerfully, obviously not realizing how angry I am at his escapades. ‘Did you see his goal?’
‘No!’ I shout. ‘I did not see his goal.’
‘He scored this sick goal for Barca against Real Madrid. It was in the Champions League today.’
Ah, the scourge of the Champions League. Bane of all serious travel soccer coaches. Usually, it’s the parents who watch this competition and come forth with bizarre new ideas about the game. Today, it happens to be one of the kids playing while under the influence of Europe.
‘And what’s that goal got to do with you trying to dribble when you know your job is to pass the ball to the better players at all times?’
‘Messi ran past five players and my dad said I should try to do that at practice.’
‘He did, did he?’
‘Yeah, he told me practice is where you try things out in order to get better.’
‘And is your dad a coach?’
‘No.’
‘Is your name Messi?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you keep that dribbling while smiling caper for your own backyard. Here, we take practice seriously. It’s not a place for fun and games.’
He’s not a bad kid. He never tries another dribble all night. At least he listens.
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