Long soccer-related post. Beware.
My daughter's team played up a year for a soccer tourney this past weekend. They won one and lost two, but fought hard given the ridiculous size difference (one year shouldn't make a difference, but I bet we gave up an average 6 inches and 20 lbs/girl).
During her last game, we were down 0-2 and my daughter had been in a game-long battle with their center back. She muscled into position and struck a really nice shot that the keeper barely deflected wide. The ref awarded a goal kick. My daughter, who was knocked to the ground during the shot, looked at the ref, and threw her hands up in disbelief.
There were only second left and they were really trying to avoid the shutout. The keeper takes the kick and mis-hit the ball a bit. My daughter jumps in front of her nemesis, chests the ball down and, mid-wind-up, promptly gets a two-handed shove to the back putting her on her face.
The refs whistle blows once..... then two more times signalling the end of the game. It was time and it wouldn't have made a difference in the outcome, but my daughter was HOT that she got deprived of her chance to put a goal on the board. That was all she talked about on the way to the car.
Knowing she needed encouragement and being the sympathetic father I am, I called her a flopper. I said she looked like Marcus Smart in cleats.
She punched my shoulder. Then we got ice cream. Ice cream made it better.
