Dreams Killed on the Soccer Field

I refereed a girls' soccer game and learned something wiser than Socrates on his smartest day.

I've been a youth soccer referee for the past two years, in weekend matches and tournaments around Southern California.

I mostly do it for the workout and just "doing my part" to support the league. Yeah, it's my community service (not court-mandated). My middle daughter surprisingly made the All-Star team last year, so we're soccer people now. We have the Rolls Royce of collapsable wagons and a Stanley water bottle the size of a grain silo. (“hydrate or die-drate!”)

Most of my referee experiences have been great — great games with kids, everyone working hard but having fun, and cheers from parents. However, I have also been accused of being a racist by a parent, had to break up a fight between two 11-year-old boys, and got yelled at by a grandpa who never once left his reclining(!) folding chair. But that's just three games of like, dozens. I consider myself lucky.

Last weekend, I refereed a playoff GU12 game (girls under 12, so 10 and 11-year-olds) and noticed something strange when checking in the teams.

One team's roster card listed their team name as "DK."

I asked the team, suspecting there were some Nintendo superfans on the squad. But no, it wasn't a homage to Donkey Kong.

Their team name was DREAM KILLERS.

Their pre-game chant? "One, two, three, DREAM KILLERS!"

These 11-year-old girls, given an opportunity to choose any traditional mascot (like Tigers or Lizards or Warriors) or untraditional (like Unicorns or Magic or Mac&Cheese), instead chose to label themselves as villains who maliciously cut short the hopes of their peers (and those peers' parents).

And you know what those girls did during the next hour? That's right. They went out there and killed some dreams.

As the final seconds ticked down, the DK villains were up 2-0 and it dawned on me that the losing team -- the team whose season was ending that very moment -- would have to go back to their coach, circle up, put their hands in the middle, and yell,

Two Four Six Eight
Who do we appreciate?
Dream Killers!

I'm done.

Real talk: I would RAGE if my daughter had lost and had to do that chant, but I must admit, this is what youth sports is for.

Sometimes, you kill dreams, and sometimes, your dreams get killed.

That's life.

You have to get back at it either way.

To withhold this life lesson from 11-year-olds is to leave them ill-equipped to deal with the world. The real world. It ain't just Tigers and Unicorns and Mac&Cheese out there. It's also full of Dream Killers. Things that will make them question themselves and be too afraid to try again.

We must find ways to thicken skin, strengthen resolves, and get back to it.

This is also true for 45-year-olds.

You may or may not have noticed that I stopped posting here for about two weeks. I'd say I got busy, but that would be a lie.

I let my dreams get maimed for a minute. Met a unicorn that didn't like the look of me.

But I'm bandaged up and back at it. Ready for the next match.

---

Are you the dream killer this week, or the one whose dreams are getting killed?

And if you’re not already subscribing, what are you waiting for?

It’s always free, and you’ll have access to some of my favorite and most vulnerable pieces from the past few months:

• Dealing with the perils of self-imposed “Success Identity” in Give Up on Yourself

• I was a weird kid, and this proves it in Committing to the Bit (and McDonald’s)

• That time I met Alan Rickman in Mustering the confidence to meet a celebrity

• Why my long-gone social media agency McBeard lives in people’s heads rent-free in The McBeard Way

Thank you x3000.