Ladies and Gentlemen, coaches, trainers, orthopedists, x-ray technicians, the guys who created the Maps app on my phone, and my therapist, Kendall Jackson: I humbly thank you for this honor.
Thank you for acknowledging my efforts to keep this soccer team at an elite level. Having our eight-year-old girls play against thirteen-year-olds is the best way to prevail in this wonderful sport, as long as they don’t give in to namby-pamby excuses like “strained” hamstrings and torn ACL’s and such. Remember excuses are like sweaty shin guards—everybody’s got ‘em and they all stink.
I’ve always encouraged Coach Nigel to enter us in tournaments that would help our girls be seen by the highest caliber Brazilian boarding schools and the top South American Soccer Clubs—like the infamously ruthless women’s team “La Liga de No Zapatos, No Servicios,” which translated means the “League of No Blood, No Foul.”
I’m amazed at the exceptional soccer knowledge I’ve brought to the team without ever having played. Actually, I’ve instigated several dynamic changes in our game.
For example, you know when our players throw themselves violently and unprovoked to the ground inside the opponent’s 18-yard box as if they were blatantly fouled? That was ME. And our signature “Limp and Shuffle” technique to waste time retrieving the ball from out-of-bounds when our team is ahead? Yep. Me too.
From Atlanta to Indianapolis I’ve proudly hauled my heated stadium seat with my daughters’ numbers on the back and my blanket in the team’s colors, wrote things such as “Go Home, Crybabies” and “Massacre on the Mississippi” on my car windows, brought thermoses of “hot chocolate” for ADULTS ONLY, while wearing my t-shirt that says “We don’t enjoy just beating you to the ground, we want to get a trophy for it too.”
In that same vein, I have done everything in my power to encourage aggressive, possibly heavy-handed tactics to make our opponents feel like humiliated, incompetent, demoralized shells of human sluggards.
On our travels, I have been committed to helping our team achieve its full potential. I have even sacrificed sleep, dutifully socializing in the hotel lobbies with other parents until the wee hours in order to build team cohesiveness. I’m proud to serve any way I can.
I have driven back and forth from Atlanta to Nashville four times in one weekend so my daughter could play in basketball and soccer games so as not to disappoint her coaches and ruin her chances of being named (in both sports) four-time “All-Region Best of Preps, MVP of the Mid-Southeastern Conference of small schools beginning with S.” Then she can score a full ride to Piney Ridge Junior College of the Saved, which figures out to be almost as much as I’ll pay for our team fees this year.
Finally, thank you to my wonderful orthopedists who work us in immediately if my daughter gets injured to determine if she can play through the pain on Advil and a good wrapping job or if she’ll do more injury to it by playing. Sometimes I can even have her back before the game ends.
Maybe I’m getting soft, but I’m not sure I want my daughter attending a Brazilian boarding school anymore. I’d have to write on my car windows in Portuguese. That’s too bad because I’m really good at Spanish.
Mucho garcias! Adidas!