When Mom Comes to Watch Your Games
Love is knowing you have support, feeling safe, feeling like someone is caring for you. It is what can give you so much courage to try, risk and fail and succeed.
Aliento means breath in Spanish. In Argentina, in the context of support, it almost means spirit given to you by someone: the wind in your sails. It is used in soccer as what your fans give you for you to move forward with strength.
There is playing soccer, and then there is knowing someone you care about is watching you play soccer and there for you.
The wish to be seen doesn't go away as an adult.
When it comes to performance, it is like the observer effect in physics; things change when someone is watching, you play different, you feel different.
As I've mentioned in other entries, I get so much strength from my teammates, especially those I have strong relationships with. But a team doesn't end with the people on the field. The Boca Jr's fans are called la doce (the 12th player). The "player" beyond the eleven on the field, who wears the number 12 on their jersey. They are a fanbase so fervent and unruly that the grass field shakes under the players' feet from the roar.
It is almost like the observer effect in physics; things change, you play different. When I know someone is there that I care about to watch me play, I play different.
It isn't often people come, but often enough. And I feel special and I am grateful. When my brother has brought my niece and nephew to watch me play futsal by the facility near their house, I try to keep composed, not to lose my temper or act in some foolish way, instead I play with a little more confidence and focus. Or if my mom is visiting from Argentina and comes to one of my games, I still enjoy having her there and how much fun she has watching. Afterward, her analysis and suggestions are always priceless. As little of an expert as she is in soccer, she is never lacking criticism, suggestions, pointers.
When Julia first started coming to my games, for some reason, my performance dropped. I chalk it up to nerves from wanting to impress her. Then, later, for some other reason, I played and acted out more aggressively during games she'd come see, cursing out half the world. And now, when she is there, I do much better than usual, than the times she isn't. It gives me spirit.
This counts in coaching too. It is like those moments that we wish to share with someone. The phrase "look at that" has to be one of the most spoken on the planet, the impulse to share a moment. When Tony or Ben (old friends and teammates in coaching and in soccer who I trust and care about and whose opinions I value) would be on the sideline with me at one of my team's games, to witness something amazing (or horrific) take place, it enriched the experience ten-fold. It was almost like it was making it real, validating it; it made it worthwhile, valuable.
Sometimes the observer is a stranger to you, and although it isn't as special, to have a stranger validate a moment or some talent, is something else entirely; it fuels too.
This year, Julia got me the best gift ever. During one of the last games that the JV2 boys team I was coaching was about to play (they had had a great season and I was proud of them), she surprised me by taking a two hour bus trip to come watch them play. The trip wasn't the whole of why it mattered, how excited and proud she was of them and me was what counted.
But it is much more often than not that you don't have someone there to watch you. And when those people aren't there, your teammates, your players, and their belief in you are; soccer can't be played alone.
To feel seen, recognized, encouraged is a gift. This is a thank you. Those gifts are never forgotten.
Aliento means breath in Spanish. In Argentina, in the context of support, it almost means spirit given to you by someone: the wind in your sails. It is used in soccer as what your fans give you for you to move forward with strength.
There is playing soccer, and then there is knowing someone you care about is watching you play soccer and there for you.
The wish to be seen doesn't go away as an adult.
When it comes to performance, it is like the observer effect in physics; things change when someone is watching, you play different, you feel different.
As I've mentioned in other entries, I get so much strength from my teammates, especially those I have strong relationships with. But a team doesn't end with the people on the field. The Boca Jr's fans are called la doce (the 12th player). The "player" beyond the eleven on the field, who wears the number 12 on their jersey. They are a fanbase so fervent and unruly that the grass field shakes under the players' feet from the roar.
It is almost like the observer effect in physics; things change, you play different. When I know someone is there that I care about to watch me play, I play different.
It isn't often people come, but often enough. And I feel special and I am grateful. When my brother has brought my niece and nephew to watch me play futsal by the facility near their house, I try to keep composed, not to lose my temper or act in some foolish way, instead I play with a little more confidence and focus. Or if my mom is visiting from Argentina and comes to one of my games, I still enjoy having her there and how much fun she has watching. Afterward, her analysis and suggestions are always priceless. As little of an expert as she is in soccer, she is never lacking criticism, suggestions, pointers.
When Julia first started coming to my games, for some reason, my performance dropped. I chalk it up to nerves from wanting to impress her. Then, later, for some other reason, I played and acted out more aggressively during games she'd come see, cursing out half the world. And now, when she is there, I do much better than usual, than the times she isn't. It gives me spirit.
This counts in coaching too. It is like those moments that we wish to share with someone. The phrase "look at that" has to be one of the most spoken on the planet, the impulse to share a moment. When Tony or Ben (old friends and teammates in coaching and in soccer who I trust and care about and whose opinions I value) would be on the sideline with me at one of my team's games, to witness something amazing (or horrific) take place, it enriched the experience ten-fold. It was almost like it was making it real, validating it; it made it worthwhile, valuable.
Sometimes the observer is a stranger to you, and although it isn't as special, to have a stranger validate a moment or some talent, is something else entirely; it fuels too.
This year, Julia got me the best gift ever. During one of the last games that the JV2 boys team I was coaching was about to play (they had had a great season and I was proud of them), she surprised me by taking a two hour bus trip to come watch them play. The trip wasn't the whole of why it mattered, how excited and proud she was of them and me was what counted.
But it is much more often than not that you don't have someone there to watch you. And when those people aren't there, your teammates, your players, and their belief in you are; soccer can't be played alone.
To feel seen, recognized, encouraged is a gift. This is a thank you. Those gifts are never forgotten.
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