Memories, New and Old

Deep breaths, Fulham fans

My sporting cornucopia overfloweth today, at least from a soccer perspective. From the lowest levels of the American game to the pinnacle of European football, it's an embarrassment of riches.

At venerable Wembley Stadium in London, that city's oldest professional club plays for a berth in the Premier League after a handful of years wandering in the Championship. Fulham, which finished third in the Championship standings, narrowly missing out on automatic promotion, take on nouveau poor Aston Villa, the regular season's fourth place club in the final match of the Championship playoffs.

Fulham play an attractive brand of attacking soccer, recording 79 goals in 46 league matches, second only to Championship winners Wolverhampton Wanderers on the campaign. The Cottagers have only lost once since Christmas (though frustratingly, that defeat came in the season's final game, when a victory would've earned an automatic promotion). You'll certainly hear about Ryan Sessegnon in years to come; the 18 year-old winger led Fulham in scoring this season and is destined for Premier League football one way or another. He's already being linked with a transfer to Tottenham Hotspur. But Fulham's got attacking talent all over the pitch, with striker Aleksandar Mitrovic and playmaker Tom Cairney among several Fulham starters with Premier League quality. For those of you who need a bit more in deciding your rooting alignment, Fulham also feature American back Tim Ream, and are owned by mustache legend and Jacksonville Jaguars boss Shahid Khan.

Make this man happy, Fulham

Aston Villa, meanwhile, have John Terry, a villain if there ever was one, slumming it in the second tier and plotting his return to the Premier League, where he'll bang teammates' wives, shiv opposing forwards in goalmouth scrums, and lower the average IQ.

This one kicks off at 11:55 ET, and a Fulham win assures you all high-quality Premier League content in the coming year. I think you all know what to do. Come on you Whites!

In Kiev at 2:45 ET, my daughter's favorite side square off against the white-hatted evil-doers from Madrid in the Champions League final. It shouldn't be terribly hard for neutrals to choose sides in this one.

In the red corner, lovable Liverpool, helmed by German teddy bear and hug-centric manager Jurgen Klopp. The Reds' frantic pressing style and world-class front three pose a problem to every back line they face. They're brilliant on the counter, scoring for fun when they're on their game. Egyptian striker Mo Salah tallied a record-breaking 32 goals in 38 Premier League matches this season, and perhaps more amazingly, turned Liverpool into a pro-Muslim town.

Real Madrid, on the other hand, is anything by lovable. Unless you like despotic arrogance. In the regally self-absorbed Cristiano Ronaldo, Los Blancos boast an all-Universe talent with an even bigger ego. And in nearly every position on the pitch, Madrid features a player probably more talented than his Liverpool counterpart. The Spanish side are two-time defending Champions League titleists, seeking an unprecedented third consecutive victory in European football's most prestigious club event.

Even if I didn't have a familial rooting interest, this wouldn't be a hard choice for me. Liverpool famously never walk alone. Here's hoping they walk back to England with a title.



As much as I care about both of those matches, I don't think I'll have much of an opportunity to view either one. My most important soccer is happening a little bit closer to home (though not exactly around the corner).

Diminutive winger Reilly Russell (11),
circa 2013

At 10:30 this morning, the Loudoun Soccer 04G Gray team, which includes diminutive winger Reilly Russell, takes on the SOCA Reddest Stars in the first match of the Colonial Cup in Richmond, VA. The Loudoun squad are undersized but fairly skilled (as much as one could describe the fifth-tier team in its age group in such a way - it's a testament to both the size and depth of our Club that it's an accurate label). They built on a middling Fall campaign to win the first seven matches of the Spring season and clinch first place in Old Dominion Soccer League (ODSL) Division One.

Unless something drastic changes, this weekend's tournament will be the final one of my daughter's competitive soccer career. She likes the game, but she loves cheerleading, and she's decided that she wants to focus on the latter. The process has been a lesson in subverting parental ego, allowing her to make her own choices, even if those choices aren't the ones her father would've selfishly made.

And speaking selfishly (which, frankly, is all we've really done here over the past 13 years), I'll miss being her coach. I first led her team when she was a seven year-old rec mini player, barely able to kick the ball five feet in front of her. I took a couple of years off after she surprised us by making a travel side, but have served as the assistant coach for her teams over the past three years, supporting a trio of dedicated coaches with a ton more knowledge about the game than I possess.

It's not the on-field stuff that I'll miss, though it's an undeniable kick watching your kid score a goal in extra time to send her team to a tournament final, or thread a diagonal pass into a striker's run, or slide tackle and topple a much bigger kid. I won't miss the near-constant battle between a headstrong child and her stubborn father about getting out the door on time for practice or games. Probably won't miss the stony silence in the car that followed those battles, either.

Diminutive winger Reilly Russell (14), left, and her
sister Katy (16), circa 2017. Gratuitous family photos.

No, that stuff will be forgotten. But being present while my kid grew from a little girl into a young woman, a vocal on-field leader, a player with above-average instincts (with barely average work rate), and a terrific teammate and friend, that will all stay with me. I love watching my older daughter dance, but I have nothing to offer her in terms of guidance and advice. While my youngest doesn't always want to hear it, I have something to give her when it comes to soccer.

Mostly, though, I'll miss the time spent with her. She'll be a high school freshman next year. After her final travel soccer game on June 3, I'll never again drive her to practice, or schlep 2 ½ hours to Richmond for a tournament. That time, even the part spent in mutually bullheaded disagreement, is magic.

If there are soccer gods, they'll sprinkle some magic on Fulham, and Liverpool, and Loudoun 04G Gray this weekend. And if not, I'll walk away full-hearted nonetheless.