You glow, girls

Here we are in youth soccer playoffs, in the second shootout in two weeks. If you don’t know what a shootout is, let me just say that it’s no place for children. It is a goofy, capricious method for determining an outcome after a tie game. To oversimplify, each team takes five penalty shots; the team that makes the most shots wins. It would be like determining a bitter divorce with pistols at 20 paces. OK, bad example. Some folks would actually enjoy that.

“Come on, let’s pray,” Taylor says before the tiebreaker begins.

“Yeah, let’s pray,” says Lindsay.

I don’t know what AYSO’s policy is on prayer circles before shootouts. Certainly, they have a rule somewhere. They have rules everywhere. The prayer circle is probably determined by some sort of coin flip. The leader probably has to stand on the north side of the field, facing God.

“Oh heavenly father ... “ Taylor begins.

I loiter a few yards from the prayer circle because I don’t really want the parents, 20 yards away, to get wind that I am allowing the girls to join hands and say a prayer.

I have no problem with what they are doing, of course, but what kind of world would we have if children from all different backgrounds and religions just suddenly joined hands and started praying together for strength, peace and good fortune? Some people might be furious.

“Please help us be brave and do our best,” Taylor says.

“And guide the ball into the net,” says Emily.

“Yeah, especially that,” Becca says.

“Amen,” says Lindsay.

When we last checked in on the mighty Glow Chicks, they were just beginning a long season of soccer with the highest of hopes. Their uniforms were bright, almost glowing. Their hair never looked better.

Oh sure, skin care issues arose from time to time, and certainly fashion was important, but for the 12- and 13-year-old Glow Chicks, their hair trumped all other concerns. The way it looked, the way it fell across their eyes, obscuring anything they might do on a soccer field.

“My bangs, like, just exploded,” one girl said at practice one night.

“Exploded?”

“Bang!” said someone else.

Which resulted in waves of convulsive, belly-aching laughter. Because in addition to the importance of hair, and the importance of prayer, the Glow Chicks were firm believers -- all of them -- on the therapeutic effects of laughing astoundingly hard on a regular basis.

“This one time, in science class ... “ Kelsey would begin.

“Oh-my-god, I remember that!” Lucy would shout, and grunting, glorious fits of laughter would follow.

Sometimes, hair and laughter would come together. On windy days, it was all they could do to keep from suffocating on their own shiny locks, which would blow into their faces when they laughed and ran, no matter how many times they’d swipe at it.

“Forget about your hair, Katie!” I’d yell from the sidelines during games.

“What?”

“Your hair, forget it!”

“OK, coach!” she’d lie.

Yet, with all these distractions, the Glow Chicks managed to put together a great season and memories that will last months, at least. We won more than we lost. We laughed more than we cried.

A typical game went something like this.

First quarter: We quickly discover that the referee, a good man and devoted volunteer, may be legally blind. Ray Charles blind. Because he is a good man and devoted volunteer, we are reluctant to complain.

Second quarter: We give up a goal that I fail to see because I’m studying the next quarter’s substitutions. “Did you see that foul?” someone asks. Um, no. And neither did the ref -- a good man, a devoted volunteer.

Third quarter: The game drags on like a Lutheran wedding. I look down at my clipboard and begin to work on my taxes.

Fourth quarter: We finally score, when Kelsey passes to Aimie, who passes to Holly, who passes to Sarah, who is on the other team actually, but mis-kicks it to Carolyn, whose shot starts to go wide but is pulled back into line by one of Earth’s natural magnetic fields.

“That’s just good coaching,” I’d point out after any sort of freak goal.

“You should get a big raise,” some wise guy would say, usually Larry.

Actually. I should get two raises. Because now it’s come down to this: a tense shootout at the end of regulation. Five girls. Five kicks. If we win, we play next week. We lose, we’re done for the season.

“Just do your best,” I tell them.

“Yeah, and don’t screw up,” says Anna.

“Come on, let’s pray,” Taylor says, and then the prayer circle begins.

As for the final result, let’s just leave it at this: Some things in life don’t work out. Sometimes, strong kicks go high over the crossbar, good shots sail wide, even prayers fall short.

But the loud, wild and wonderful Glow Chicks will always remind us of one little thing. A good, gasping laugh is still the best form of exercise, one of God’s great gifts.

Better even, than soccer itself.

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