It
October of 1975, the head football coach at Monte Vista—for whom I worked
coaching quarterbacks and linebackers—had a conversation with me as we were
climbing the stairs to the coaches’ office.
“You know
I was head soccer coach last year?”
“I didn’t
know that,” I admitted.
“Doesn’t
matter. I don’t want to head coaching assignments back to back.” In Southern
California, high school soccer season overlaid the basketball season and began
the day football season ended.
“Oh.”
“I told
them you’d do it,” he said.
I
stopped.
He walked
on up the stairs.
I knew
nothing about soccer at that time.
I take
that back. I did know it used a round ball and you had to kick the ball because only the goalkeeper could touch the
ball with his hands.
I had
read a story in the Boy Scout magazine, Boys Life, about an American teenager
who’d moved to Germany. He’d played linebacker in his American school, but
opted for goalie in soccer since he’d never used his foot in a game except
kickball.
I went to
the school library and checked out The
Sports Illustrate Guide to Soccer and a book on soccer practice drills. I
discovered that soccer teams played with 11 players on the field, you couldn’t
substitute players at will, and there was a rule about being offside that was very important.
Word of
my new coaching job spread quickly among the returning soccer players. One of
those players was the younger brother of a former college All-American soccer
player. Since he’d graduated from Monte Vista—as I had—and I’d been in a class
with him in my last semester at San Diego State University, he got in touch.
“Hi,
Chuck. This is Pete Goossens.”
“Hey,
Pete. How you doing?”
“Fine. I
heard you were the soccer coach at MV.”
“Guilty.”
“I was
wondering if you’d like an assistant.”
I’m
certain my acceptance of his offer is one of the fastest acceptance of any
offer in the history of oral communication.
Together,
Pete and I were a great team. He did most of the actual coaching--pretty much all of it.
I was in
charge of conditioning.
We finished in second place in our league.
We had
two exchange students on that team. Tom and Otto.
Tom—tall
and sculpted—was Scandinavian. His ball skills were superb. He was distressed
by the American style of play, which involved a lot of hacking and wild
kicking.
At least
once each game, Tom would reach the limit of his tolerance for such crudity.
The next time he got the ball, he would dribble all the way down the field and
take a point-blank shot on goal. There was no stopping him. It looked like
opposing players just bounced off him while he moved towards the goal. I can’t
remember a time anyone took the ball away from him when he was in this mode.
Otto was
a different story altogether.
Otto was
from Germany where soccer is played on a much wider field than high schools
used at the time. He was a defender and was used to having plenty of time to
adjust his position before the ball arrived. The fast-pace of the American high
school game bothered him—he was a slow runner.
More than
once, Otto would align himself with the most dangerous offensive player—in
perfect position to cut off the attack lane to the goal. The ball would arrive
more quickly than Otto preferred. In a deft, obviously often practiced move,
Otto would allow the offensive player to make the first step. Then he’d pull
down the player’s shorts as he prepared to make his run.
Every
player whose pants Otto pulled down stopped running—his man never scored a goal
the entire season.
In spite of one of the wettest winters in San Diego in that decade—see
the photo, the team made the California Interscholastic Federation playoffs that year.
By the time playoffs arrived, we’d lost our first string goalie to bad grades. Our backup goalie, while more than competent, didn’t want to miss class for the playoff game.
Without telling me, he simply did not board the team bus when we left school.
Otto filled in as our goalie and did a serviceable job, but we lost 4-3 and were eliminated from the playoffs.
That was my last game in my first iteration as varsity soccer coach at MVHS.
Next
Almanac: Coaching Futbol – Part 2: I thought it was a good idea at the time
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