At the age of four or five, my parents signed me up for soccer. I was a very timid child and I had absolutely no apt for the sport. I played for a few years and I remember my favorite part of it all always being half-times at the games because of the orange slices and juice. I would stand on the field, completely static, sometimes picking grass and occasionally running in the general direction of the ball (never actually kicking it) just waiting for the whistle to blow so I could go eat some orange slices. Half-time was the best and I spent the entire first half of every game anticipating it, unfortunately it was all downhill from there; after half-time I’d return to the field in agony 1.) because I had to spend another twenty minutes standing in grass and 2.) because I knew what was coming at the end of the game: the human tunnel.
The absolute worst part of playing soccer, worse than being kicked or having my mom braid my hair in annoyingly tight braids before very game, was running through the human tunnel. I hated it. The whistle would blow signaling the end of the game and would I half-heartedly jog over, usually behind the entirety of my team, to the terrifying and completely bizarre human tunnel on the sideline; the final obstacle standing between me and the only other redeeming aspect of soccer games besides half-time snacks, the after-game snack. A tunnel comprised of my parents and other weird old people holding each others hands up in the air, jeering at you and occasionally reaching down and patting you on the head or back. I never understood why they had to touch me, or why they had to yell, or why they had to not only entrap me by forming a ceiling of arms above my head but also by leaning their faces in and looking down at me grinning as if it is enjoyable to have to experience something like that. It was hardly worth the granola bar and sunny d to endure that monstrosity.
Soccer wasn’t my thing, for so many reasons and luckily by third grade I moved on to other things in life. In my four years of playing, I never scored a single goal, I ran through countless tunnels and the snacks got continually worse as the sport became more competitive. I’ll never forget dreading that tunnel and I’ll always hold a little sympathy in my heart for the millions of little soccer players out there facing it every week.
