Q Gives Us All the Vapors

It’s currently 8:00 by the clock on the wall, but our bodies think it’s 9:00. T this morning, while we (she, Q and I) sat snuggled up on the recliner, watching “The Aristocats” (they watched – I snoozed), suddenly announced, from where she lay, extended out on the footrest atop my shins, chin in hands: “Es diferente hoy. Yo no se que es, pero es diferente.” We had said nothing to them about the change of time, but she could feel it.

And sure enough, around 7:00, her body, knowing full well that it was really 8:00, gave out. She finished her dessert and crawled into Mami’s lap, where she lasted hardly any time at all. We changed her into he pajamas and dumped her into her bed half an hour later.

It was a pretty lazy Sunday, all in all – though Janneke, who flies about doing laundry and cooking on Sundays, would probably clobber me if she heard me say that. We awoke and set about walking the dog, reading the paper, eating breakfast, etc. With all her busywork interspersed in there. She sneaked off to our bedroom during “The Aristocats” and, later on, during the Packer game (miraculously broadcast in the Land of the Clam-Eaters), to read and otherwise prepare for her precious Job. The only work I did was to rake the front lawn, which went from 10:30 to noon or so, and then to do some odd laundry-folding as I shrieked at the screen, and then walked away grumpy at 4:15 or so, having watched the Packers give away the game. It was really not a very positive experience, and all in all I’m pretty glad that circumstances prevent me from watching them more often. I get very little positive out of it, even if they win. And if they lose, my day’s just shot.

But less so nowadays, because T and Q are such great distractions. T wanted to go to the “eyeball park” in town – that’s where the great steel eyes with glowering blue lights inside them inhabit the strange moguls in front of several of the College’s dorms. I had promised her we’d go there and play, and so we trooped over and spent probably twenty minutes climbing and otherwise possessing them. Then she got tired of it, and we trooped home.

Janneke was downstairs on the treadmill, watching TV with Q in tow, so I sent T down there and in the gloaming loaded all the neighbors’ leaves, which they had raked into piles, onto my tarp and trooped them back to my leaf pile. Come spring, those leaves will all compost down into the best fertilizer a lawn could ask for. Who’ll be the sucker THEN!?! And then I came in and we all sat down to supper.

That was today. The story of yesterday was soccer.

Q’s last game, against Pittsfield. A friend of his who moved to Pittsfield a couple of years ago was on the team, and her mother, who used to be a daycare teacher to both our kids, was there to watch, so that was nice. But the game itself was all business. Q and the boys had their work cut out for them – this was the team they had beaten 3-2 in Pittsfield, and they had been doing some growing in the interim by the look of things.

The Pittsfield boys were fast, skilled, and tenacious. Williamstown had two platoons working again – one group of five would leave the field entirely and be replaced by the other. And neither team really did better than the other – Q and his friend Alex, along with Crow, with whom Q had hooked up productively in Great Barrington last week, were the main offensive players on the second squad, and got some good penetration, but just couldn’t turn anything into goals. And Pittsfield kept getting behind our defenders. It was a surprise – usually these guys stay with whoever they’re up against and don’t let them get past, but these little curly-headed jukers were giving our boys fits. And before you knew it, it was 1-0. And then it was 2-0…and then it was 3-0. Williamstown got some good things going, but just couldn’t close the deal. If I recall correctly, the half ended and Williamstown still hadn’t gotten on the board. It could have been a lot worse, but Jay, Williamstown’s goalie, plays with the instincts and timing of a thirty-year-old and single-handedly anticipated, charged, and thwarted probably four other scoring chances. We had a bad feeling over on the parents’ sideline.

The second half, Alex took over. He scrambled and squabbled and fought his way through the defense, followed by Q, for one of the most tenacious and gritty goals of the year to get Williamstown out of shut-out territory, and then his shift ended. Brady and Sammy D came on with the other squad, and Brady’s persistent attacking down the right-hand side, which had always ended up in him being forced into the corner or losing the ball, finally paid off in a lovely goal – 3-2. And then Sammy D, who can almost never be shut out in a game, came through on the same shift, fighting his way through traffic on the left side and putting one past the keeper. 3-3.

Q’s squad took the field again to end the game, and before too long those gnat-like Pittsfield attackers had gotten just past Q, and then just past Jacob, and then just past Jay for another score. 4-3 now, and time was winding down – this had already felt like a really long half, and it looked to end the year on a downer for the boys. I had been exhorting Q to hustle throughout – even Janneke had gotten into the act. Maybe because this was the last game, maybe because she didn’t want him to end on one of his stand-and-look performances. He’d had some good runs at different points, but overall it was not much of a hustle day. He’d nearly put two crosses over for goals, but they were both the sort of play where he seems like he’s half-paying attention until the ball is right at his feet and then lamely pokes at it. Same situation, week 3, he’d have been firing it through the back of the net. But in this back half of the season, you were lucky if he managed to stop fiddling with his shirt long enough to notice the ball. It looked bad.

But others were seeing something I wasn’t. His sheer speed had a lot of people seeing him as our only hope, as the one kid Pittsfield couldn’t stop in this, what hadе to be the last minute. 'Give it to Q!', screamed Crow's mom. 'It's up to you, Q!' screamed somebody else. 'Man,' I thought to myself. 'That's not who I think should be taking over right now.'

Pittsfield mounted an attack that got all the way to Jay, and Jay boomed a punt down the right-hand side, where Q was playing. He came under the punt and looked straight up at it. I was reminded of situations last week where the same thing would happen, and Q, afraid of being hit in the head, would get to the right spot but then duck out of the way and laugh, even as the other team charged toward the goal with the ball he could / should have controlled. I was fully expecting the same thing here.

No. Q let it strike the ground and then settled beneath it, and headed it down to himself on the bounce. Two Pittsfield defenders were right on him, and he sprinted past them down the right side, gaining maybe a few inches, half a step. And these guys were good – forget about angling toward the goal. They were charging to put themselves between him and the center – he was not going to turn the corner. He was rapidly sprinting himself out of having an angle on the goal at all – it was now or never.

Two defenders draped on him and moving to cut him off, Q launched himself forward, laying out feet-first as the ball skittered ahead, left leg curling beneath him, right leg arcing as far ahead as he could send it. He slid to the ground and connected with the ball right in the sweet spot in one unbelievably graceful and powerful stroke.

Past the stabbing cleats of the foremost defender. Past the fingertips of the diving goalie. Across the face of the goal. Just inside the far post.

It was, from start to finish, a thing of absolute beauty, which I did not film. I would love to be able to share it with you, but I had completely forgotten the camera in my pocket, and am kind of glad I did. Because I watched it with such intensity that I remember it vividly. It was just gorgeous.

He jumped to his feet and raced back toward midfield, fists curled upward, elbows locked to his sides, high-stepping and screaming primally as his teammates chased after him and the sideline went wild. Williamstown was smelling blood – in the next few seconds, they mounted another charge, and had the game gone on, I think they probably would have gotten a couple more across. But as soon as Pittsfield managed to clear the ball to midfield, the whistle blew. And all the parents, from both towns, looked up at each other and laughed and shook our heads and said 'Thank goodness.' Because those are a couple of good, good teams, and neither deserved to lose. It was a privelege to watch and I am still not completely recovered. I was wrong about Q's heart and about his drive, at least at the end. And I am glad to have been so.

I don't know whose idea it was, but the jubilant Williamstown Strikers, next I looked up, were all shirtless, waving their jerseys around their heads in whirling circles of purple as they ran in and around and among each other, howling. I know in my bones that never in my life did I experience a sporting day like that one. It warms me up just to think about it.

Today I was saying to Q that Alex, for example, is like a wolverine. Aggressive always, scrappy, fighting through the tackles, always charging everyone else's shot hoping for a rebound, scrambling and never giving up. And Q is like a deer – seemingly effortless, graceful, but suddenly and shockingly powerful and fast, with one move flowing seamlessly into another. They compliment each other beautifully. It was so fitting that the 4 goals scored were by Brady, Sammy, Q and Alex – those were the four top scorers on the year. What a fantastic season they had, and what a fabulous job their coaches did.

«Estoy contenta de que la temporada de Q se termino,» said T this morning. «Porque cuando la gente grita, me hace doler las orejas.» ('I'm glad Q's soccer season is over. Because when people scream, it hurts my ears.')

Same for my blood pressure.

Going bird hunting for the first time in my life next week - let's see if I get hooked on it the way Alex's Dad, who's taking me, has been. His father has a German shorthaired pointer that they use, and boy, it might be a lot of fun. Still...if I had my druthers, I'd go shoot some more squirrels. Them's good eatin' - and weren't released into the woods from a pheasant farm twelve hours before I shot them. Not sure how to think about this...Matt (Alex's Dad) brought three shotguns over to the house for me to try out Saturday night (they came for dinner), and man, they are some beautiful guns. And he's an enormously generous guy to be bringing me along on this - sounds like a bunch of very serious bird hunters we'll be going with. I'm excited - a little afraid to be laughed at, should I miss my first flying target ever, but pretty confident. I am not a bad shot.

Just ask the squirrels.