What To Expect At Your 5-Year-Old's Soccer Game

Kids’ soccer is a rite of passage for the modern parent. Whether your child is the next Lionel Messi or the next hot mess, they all start somewhere. While some phenoms jump right into the deep end of steeply competitive leagues, many kids get their feet wet with a much looser interpretation of “The Beautiful Game”. So for parents of the average American 5-year-old, your Saturday morning soccer matches probably include the following:

A random mom on the field. Whether she’s crouched over a child who’s refusing to play or tying a goddamn shoe, she might as well get assistant coaching cred for as many minutes as she spends on the pitch.

Parents yelling “Go to the ball!” It seems like overstating the obvious, but for this age group, it’s best to be direct. Phrases like “Go to the ball”, “Kick the ball”, and--if all else fails--“Look at the ball!” go a long way for a kid standing dumbfounded with one finger up his nose while the action rumbles past him.

Parents yelling “Wrong way!” For a demographic that often needs reminders to kick the damn ball, understanding which direction to kick it is way beyond their pay grade. Every highlight reel for a game at this level includes a player enthusiastically dribbling the ball in the wrong direction.

Exuberant own-goals. Put the ball in the goal. Seems simple enough. Until you realize there’s more than one on the field. Unless you don’t and just end up scoring on yourself, then celebrating anyway. A goal's a goal, right? The devil’s in the details.

A ringer. Maybe they had siblings who taught them to shoot penalty kicks straight from their stroller. Or maybe they’re that rare, uncut gem of natural talent. Either way. In a league where half the team is making grass necklaces and asking for a snack break, there’s always a kid or two shooting the lights out and showing everybody else who’s boss.

Flossing. Whether it’s on the bench or waiting for the whistle in the middle of the field, today’s kids don’t waste an opportunity to beat a worn-out dance craze like a dead horse. At a loss? Time to floss.

Someone’s toddler wandering into the goal. The players may not know where to kick the ball, but somebody’s 18-month-old is like a moth to a flame for the most dangerous place on the field. The baby of the family has cut loose and won’t stop until they’ve got a lasting scar is where their forehead used to be. 

A player sitting in the grass. Soccer is a real workout. Especially for little legs that were super excited about wearing shin guards--but not particularly interested in running. Normally, a player would just wait for a substitution to take a break, but when you’re five, that “bench” is wherever you want it to be.

A player swinging from the goal. We’ve all heard the cautionary tales of kids permanently maimed by accidentally bringing a soccer goal down on themselves. These kids did not catch that link on their Twitter feeds.

A younger sibling struggling to escape a stroller. If you’re the kind of parent who actually wants to watch the game and just can’t deal with repeatedly snatching your wandering toddler from dangerous or inappropriate entanglements, the stroller-straight jacket is a viable option. Baby Sister just ain’t gonna like it. She’ll be trying to exorcise herself like a demon from that Graco before you can say, “More Puffs?” But at least you bought yourself a minute to snap a photo of Junior getting scored on by his own teammate.

A player gone AWOL to the parking lot or surrounding woods. Sometimes, the answer to sensory overload is flat-out escape. Especially when you’re 5. Even if your parents are completely on point, you can still be halfway to the curb or the tree line before mom and dad can scramble out of their camping chairs.

Snacks. For baby brother, that fistful of Teddy Grahams is the only thing keeping him from total meltdown on the sidelines. For many players, that snack-size sack of Goldfish is their major incentive for finishing a game. Because nothing says “athlete” like a prize pouch of empty carbs! The only "World Cup" these kids are interested in better be filled with Gogurt and served with a chaser of Capri Sun. Anything less is tantamount to inciting a riot.

Pinnies. To the average person in the South, these might sound like little copper coins you toss into fountains because they can’t buy shit. For low-stakes soccer matches, however, these are nondescript, solid-color mesh tanks used to distinguish one group of kids from another. It’s similar to the concept of “shirts vs. skins”, but instead it’s “t-shirts vs. tank tops (that may or may not have head lice from the last kid)”.

Flustered parents. Because “overwhelmed and agitated” is the natural state for any parent who’s stuffed their child into knee-length soccer socks, wrangled their toddler on the sidelines, stressed over the likelihood of pinny-induced head lice, or been fully dressed since 7 am on a Saturday for the express purpose of watching an event that’s 10% soccer and 90% shit show.

Oblivious parents. Maybe they haven’t had an adult conversation all week and couldn’t help asking the family next to them where they got that sweet water-proof picnic blanket. Maybe they’re asleep with their eyes open. Maybe they’re online-shopping for fucking waders because they’re wet to the waist with morning dew. Their kids could be handing out quarter bags at midfield; these parents would never know the difference.

Beverage mugs. Coffee. Diet Coke. Mimosa. Jim Beam and Dr. Pepper. Your beverage is your business. As long as it keeps your shit together and gets you through watching the athletic equivalent of cat-herding. 

For some parents, this is the beginning of your youth sports experience. For others, it’s a failed experiment in the process of finding your child’s personal chi. In either case, it’s testament to your devotion as a parent, a lasting source of comedy gold, and a humble reminder that the road to athletic super-stardom often begins with a single step, very likely in the wrong fucking direction.