left a series of weak messages telling me that I could call her when I was ready. God, I was awful for not calling this woman. Clearly she needed to connect with us and yet I could not face her.
Chapter Seven
January turned into February and Rachel and I were kept rapt in the excitement of club soccer through Darcy’s and Kelly’s tales from the California State Cup. Parked in their driveway was their silver minivan with windows painted with white letters. “Go Kelly #3!” was the largest proclamation. Next was “Kix Girls Rock State Cup” with smaller script letters below that listed the names and jersey numbers of the team.
I found myself sucked into the drama as if Rachel’s curiosity were contagious. Every time we saw the minivan pull into the Greers’ driveway, Rachel asked if she could run over and find out how the team did. I told her to give the family an hour to unpack and settle in. Then I’d end up going over too, listening to Darcy’s take on the weekend while Kelly offered Rachel a play-by-play of the games. Ron had always disappeared by then, and Darcy was starved for the good audience she had in me. After the girls went upstairs to Kelly’s room, Darcy regaled me with tawdry gossip about the bad behavior of parents at games. Making sure I wasn’t scared off by this, she always prefaced, “This is the minority, Claire. Most people are completely normal, but they’re no fun to talk about.”
“Okay,” I said, assuring her that she wouldn’t scare me away from taking Rachel to soccer tryouts.
“So anyway,” Darcy smiled with delight, “one of the Conquistadors board members got in huge trouble with our regional league for selling the naming rights for their annual tournament.”
“Will you sit down?” I scolded. “You’re like a bee!”
“If I don’t do this now—” she began to defend her sweeping.
“What, the crumbs will settle in and stain? Sit. Sit.”
Darcy obliged. “Okay, so their attorney was able to get them out of the contract, but still, it was a huge ordeal for a few days. Apparently the guy penned a deal with Taco Bell. He said he didn’t see the harm since it went with their Latin name. The board said that associating an athletic event with fart-inducing fast food was not the image they were trying to project.”
I laughed. “That’s good of them, I guess.”
“Are you kidding? Turf just signed a deal with Sizzler and Hot Shots is in negotiations with Pepsi. What’s the difference?” Darcy asked. “The problem was that he did this all on his own, without discussing it with the board. This is all about bruised egos and pride. I guarantee you that if this guy went to the board, we’d be playing in the Fart Cup next spring.”
Darcy said California was a testing ground for corporate sponsorship of kids’ sports, but that in ten years it would be the norm. Thirty years ago, stadiums bearing the name of disposable razors, florists and Post-it Notes were unheard of. College bowl games weren’t sponsored by Tostitos, FedEx and Citibank. Now, no one thinks twice about it. Darcy predicted that by the time our kids played high school soccer, they’d wear jerseys decked out with logos from everything from fast food restaurants to cell phone carriers and play in stadiums built by Children’s Motrin.
In late February, Kelly’s team lost in the “sweet sixteen” weekend of the still-unbranded California State Cup. There was talk of foul play and bracket reconfiguration, the athletic equivalent of political gerrymandering. Darcy also complained that Turf had a goalkeeper who looked no less than sixteen, but when she complained to Kelly’s team manager, she was immediately hushed because the Kix squad had snuck on a thirteen-year-old ringer using a doctored birth certificate. Darcy also cracked me up with her imitation of the Patriots’ team manager choosing field side. Apparently the home team gets to choose the side of the field the girls play on while
Chapter Seven
January turned into February and Rachel and I were kept rapt in the excitement of club soccer through Darcy’s and Kelly’s tales from the California State Cup. Parked in their driveway was their silver minivan with windows painted with white letters. “Go Kelly #3!” was the largest proclamation. Next was “Kix Girls Rock State Cup” with smaller script letters below that listed the names and jersey numbers of the team.
I found myself sucked into the drama as if Rachel’s curiosity were contagious. Every time we saw the minivan pull into the Greers’ driveway, Rachel asked if she could run over and find out how the team did. I told her to give the family an hour to unpack and settle in. Then I’d end up going over too, listening to Darcy’s take on the weekend while Kelly offered Rachel a play-by-play of the games. Ron had always disappeared by then, and Darcy was starved for the good audience she had in me. After the girls went upstairs to Kelly’s room, Darcy regaled me with tawdry gossip about the bad behavior of parents at games. Making sure I wasn’t scared off by this, she always prefaced, “This is the minority, Claire. Most people are completely normal, but they’re no fun to talk about.”
“Okay,” I said, assuring her that she wouldn’t scare me away from taking Rachel to soccer tryouts.
“So anyway,” Darcy smiled with delight, “one of the Conquistadors board members got in huge trouble with our regional league for selling the naming rights for their annual tournament.”
“Will you sit down?” I scolded. “You’re like a bee!”
“If I don’t do this now—” she began to defend her sweeping.
“What, the crumbs will settle in and stain? Sit. Sit.”
Darcy obliged. “Okay, so their attorney was able to get them out of the contract, but still, it was a huge ordeal for a few days. Apparently the guy penned a deal with Taco Bell. He said he didn’t see the harm since it went with their Latin name. The board said that associating an athletic event with fart-inducing fast food was not the image they were trying to project.”
I laughed. “That’s good of them, I guess.”
“Are you kidding? Turf just signed a deal with Sizzler and Hot Shots is in negotiations with Pepsi. What’s the difference?” Darcy asked. “The problem was that he did this all on his own, without discussing it with the board. This is all about bruised egos and pride. I guarantee you that if this guy went to the board, we’d be playing in the Fart Cup next spring.”
Darcy said California was a testing ground for corporate sponsorship of kids’ sports, but that in ten years it would be the norm. Thirty years ago, stadiums bearing the name of disposable razors, florists and Post-it Notes were unheard of. College bowl games weren’t sponsored by Tostitos, FedEx and Citibank. Now, no one thinks twice about it. Darcy predicted that by the time our kids played high school soccer, they’d wear jerseys decked out with logos from everything from fast food restaurants to cell phone carriers and play in stadiums built by Children’s Motrin.
In late February, Kelly’s team lost in the “sweet sixteen” weekend of the still-unbranded California State Cup. There was talk of foul play and bracket reconfiguration, the athletic equivalent of political gerrymandering. Darcy also complained that Turf had a goalkeeper who looked no less than sixteen, but when she complained to Kelly’s team manager, she was immediately hushed because the Kix squad had snuck on a thirteen-year-old ringer using a doctored birth certificate. Darcy also cracked me up with her imitation of the Patriots’ team manager choosing field side. Apparently the home team gets to choose the side of the field the girls play on while
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