Family Forum / Parenting / Mothers / April 2008

The rain pelted the players and field with ice-pick precision.
October's mild wind swirled lighter drops of water about where
they'd land and disappear into the girls' blue jerseys. Drops
speckled my glasses and hung suspended from my baseball cap's
rim.

"Cover! One attack! Shadow back! Watch the middle!" I bellowed
to my defense as the striker for my opponent dribbled the ball
through the field of players with little effort.

"Alpha! Stall! Communicate!"

"I go! Jenn-Air! Second!" she answered my yell.

The striker double-scissored, feinted left and pushed the ball
right, towards the sideline to go around D-uA. Alpha shadowed
her moves without charging in, edging the girl towards the
white line.

The striker tried another series of feints. The two girls met
with a physical thump; Alpha stood the striker upright which
threw her opponent momentarily off-balance. The ball bounce
out. Alpha reached down to throw it back in when the striker
pushed at her. Alpha, rooted in place like some solid red oak,
didn't move so the striker tried to push her again. Alpha stood
up, blue eyes ablaze.

The center referee quickly stepped between the two girls.

"Red; back off. You pull that one more time and you'll get a
yellow! Back off!" he yelled.

Alpha tossed the ball down line to her striker. Six seconds and
three quick kicks led to a score!

"Just like we'd practiced!" I grinned, turning to my assistant
coach, E.

"I'd post that as an assist..." he smiled.

The Bruins brought the ball back to center and waited for the
referee to blow play live. The red striker lined wide. The
moment the ball rolled forward she broke into a full sprint.

"Bronco Left! Bronco LEFT!" I bellowed. Alpha already knew the
play and moved up to intercept the long pass. The ball skipped
across the wet grass, picking up speed and turning into a
knuckle ball. She trapped the ball down, quickly moving it
outside to pass it forward. She glanced down at the ball...

"Ahhhhh...." erupted across the field as she flipped up into
the air like a rag doll thrown by a large dog. The red striker
slid under and past Alpha's airborne body.

Wind. Rain. Cold. All stopped. I saw and heard everything but
couldn't move.

TWEEEEET!

TWEEEET!

TWEEET!

The center referee's whistle blew as he rushed towards Alpha's
crumpled form. "Red! Off the field!" he yelled at the striker
that slid Alpha cleat-high and presented a red card to her.
"Coach," he motioned over to me. "Now!"

I looked over at E. His eyes showed what I thought without
seeing it.

"Call 9-1-1," I ordered my captain as I tossed my cell to her.

"Yes, Coach," was all I heard as I sprinted over to Alpha.

"Daddy... It hurts. It hurts bad."

"I know, hon. I need you to stop rolling. Deep breaths." I
grabbed her hand. She clamped down on it like a drowning
victim; pain lanced up through my forearm.

"E. You've been here. Is it?" I left the sentence hanging.

"No. She's lucky."

"Coach. Is she all right?"

I looked up. The Bruins' coach was standing over us. I wasn't
feeling very charitable and blasted him. "What was that?! There
wasn't any call for that play!"

"I know. She's gone. I don't coach that."

I didn't trust myself to say anything else. I looked down at
the six muddy skids across my daughter-unit's knee, starting
from the inside and moving all the way across her thigh.

E was examining Alpha's knee. "That was a precise take-out.
That's not something that can be done without practice..." he
said to me but there was no mistake who he was saying it to...

I heard sirens approaching.

"We need to move her off the field, R."

"Yes..." I could feel the fog rolling in. Each thump of my
heart pounded in my head, siphoning field sounds. E reached
over and touched my shoulder. I saw him counting "One. Two.
Three." We lifted Alpha's 95 lb and walked over to the
sideline. One of my team's parents had pulled the first aid
kit's blanket out and then wrapped Alpha up.

Tears streamed down her face leaving muddy tracks across her
cheeks.

"Daddy? It hurts bad."

I didn't look up at her. Nine firemen and two paramedics
huddled about the two of us. "We'll take care of her Dad," a
mountain-huge man with a walrus-bushy moustache said. He
"escorted" me away from the gathered crowd of medical
personnel.

"Everyone in!" I bellowed to my team. "NOW!"

The girls came in, some quickly, all scared. "We're finishing
this! Dee; you're in for Alpha. Lee; move forward and score. No
ONE is to retaliate! We don't play that game! Do. You.
Understand?"

"Yes, Coach!" the sixteen players yelled.

"1-2-3; Win [Team]! Back out on the field."

I turned back to where Alpha was being lifted to the rolling
stretcher. "I'm going to follow her. Team's yours."

"Go," E said.

"LCGH is my choice," I mentioned to a paramedic.

"Got it, you'll meet us there."

I got my cell back from my captain's dad. As he handed it back,
he said, "Let us know if there's anything we can do."

I smiled and turned away.

On the drive to the hospital, I phone everyone I could think
of: SWMBO, my gahdmother, my MIL, and both local SILs. I then
called Alpha's pediatrician and let her know that we were on
the way to the ER; she said she'd meet us there.

Lady Luck visited Alpha; nothing was broken. There was severe
muscle bruising and her knee had already puffed up like a
black-and-yellow helium balloon.

[...]

Eighteen months pass and Alpha keeps complaining that when she
walks or runs, that same knee hurts. Three doctors, one knee
specialist, three MRIs, six x-rays, and a partridge in a pear
tree later, we learn that there is a minute tear in her
meniscus. Surgery is required.

The knee specialist performs arthroscopy surgery and fixes her
knee. She's healing nicely and "relatively" pain free.

She's looking forward to getting back into sports.

Where'd they hide this chapter in that damn handbook?

The Ranger