A Season To Remember

"Go! Go! Go!" The man with black hair calls.

"Pass, James, pass." A grey-haired figure commands as he waves his hands energetically. 

"Your kid is not listening to you. My son does everything I say."

"Well, mine has a mind of his own. He knows how to think for himself. Yours needs to be told simple commands."

"Ya? If your son is so great why is he on the junior varsity team and not varsity?" It's a dig at the other man's son and gameplay abilities. 

"Again, it was his decision." 

"Defense! Move to defense!"

"Haaaaaa…. Your son is horrible at defense. Are you sure this game is for him? Maybe ballay is more his speed."

"My son worked hard to be on the team, and he passed tryouts." The tall man retorts.

"Ummmm… there were no tryouts for JV, only varsity. So he fails tryouts by way of them not existing."

"But he said…." stammers the older man

"Goal! See that my son scored right past your son. It is in the genetics."

"Don't get too excited there is still another half. This is a team sport, no I in team."

"Oh, but there is, if you only know where to look."

Two nets, two teams, two coaches and a referee. The bleachers are full of supportive fans smelling of hotdogs and soda. A long green span lays between the nets as the teams kick a rolling sphere across it to meet the goal. Cheers and chants ring clear as the game bulbs to match point. Neither team wants to give ground, only take it. The crowd continues cheering as the match continues into overtime. The sky is beginning to look omunise as the northern storm rolls in. The storm has been predicted for days but the team still wanted to play. Everyone dressed up in their respective sky blue or white uniform and marched over to the field. Soccer is the name of the game. 

The comradery is palpable on the field. You can clearly see the unspoken signals as well as hear declarations of play. The crowd rises to their feet and begins to stamp in rhythm with the thunder now ringing through the air. The game won and with that final wound up kick, the season as well. Basketball will start soon but a lot of the kids would rather play soccer.

As the players shake hands out of bounds two corporeal figures go unnoticed. One is older in a dim camouflage uniform. He dawns the name, Sargent. D. Vance stitched onto the fabric. His younger company stands tall with sold wings pinned to his chest. Both are tragically passed in their own ways. A soldier who protected his country from invaders and paid the ultimate price befriending a pilot gone before his time. Both left hearts behind full of grief but are still here to guide, protect and cheer.  Every Saturday they come together to watch the living …. Live. Their greatest joy now is to watch their sons grow into the men that they, the fathers, dream they would one day be. Reaching out and shake hands they nod with smiles of mischief.

"Good game."

"See you next week."

They drift off in opposite directions as they follow the invisible theaters of love connecting them to their living sons.