Ry’s Blog

Just last Sunday I took off on a trip to Omaha to watch my cousin, Jake Miller, engage the enemy on the field of battle, which is more commonly referred to as the Creighton University Soccer Field. I’m certain that the field had an actual name, but being the poorly informed individual that I am, I failed to pick up on it. At any rate, the field itself was beautiful. It was build three years ago, or somewhere around there, and is decked out with nice seats, a large video score board, and Astroturf. We could not have asked for a better day in terms of weather. The temperature hovered around sixty degrees Fahrenheit, and the sun was out all day long. It was a truly beautiful day.

We met up with my Aunt Diana, and her husband Tim, along with an old friend whom we all refer to as Zonk. We discussed the issues before the soccer game commenced, and my mom shared some pictures of the new house my parents are building out in the country. I decided to play the role of amateur photo journalist, and made good use of my camera during the event to ensure that it was properly documented, and so that the day might be commemorated in the glorious halls of…my computer hard drive.

The soccer players came out onto the field at that point, and they began to warm up. Before we knew it, the game was underway. Jake was a defense specialist, which happened to be my favorite position to play back in my “soccer days.” It was absolutely thrilling to watch the soccer game live. Come to think of it, it was probably the first real soccer game I ever witnessed live. It brought back lots of memories of playing on the field. I would watch the footwork of the players, and think back to the day when I was performing similar moves, although they were certainly less refined than those executed by the Yale and Creighton players. I was particularly impressed by the footwork of Yale player number 10. I sorely wish I could remember his real name to give him proper credit. Maybe Jake will read this and inform me of the his actual name. At any rate, I was pulled into the game in a way I have never experience at a sporting event before. They generally don’t excite me much, but I think the fact that I once played myself made it that much more thrilling for me.

The first half ended in a stalemate: Yale zero, Creighton zero. The tides turned in the second half, however, and Creighton ended up beating Yale three to zero. I’m sure it was a bummer for Yale, but Jake didn’t seem too upset, what with all the spectacular head butts he managed to pull off.

Soccer must be one of the most elegant sports to watch. It prefers sinuous control and deft reactions over brute force. It forces the player to neglect the two tools he uses most commonly to interact with his environment (his hands), and it forces him to think with his feet, his legs, his chest, and, literally, his head. To watch it is to observe poetry in motion – it is a concert of movement, with each crescendo rising and falling as the players sprint from goal line to goal line. The quick reactions of the players forming melodies, each goal blocked creating a sudden, staccato accent. A well played game of soccer is art in motion, an expression of physical refinement. It is the most glorious of sports.

Looking back, I could not have asked for a better Sunday. For now, however, I must depart. My Australian friend, Tash, has just decided to bake some cookies/brownies, and I feel compelled to go eat a cookie myself to commemorate the event. Until next time, stay tuned.