Sunshine, Sideways Rain & Sideline Shenanigans: A Soccer Tournament Weekend

One weekend, two completely different weather systems, questionable refereeing, and enough muddy laundry to last a lifetime.

There’s something about Columbus Day weekend that practically guarantees two things in our house: soccer tournaments and a weather forecast that cannot be trusted.

Saturday? Beautiful. Sunshine, temperatures in the upper 60s and low 70s, and the kind of fall weather that makes you think spending an entire weekend on a soccer field is actually a lovely idea.

Sunday? Apparently Mother Nature took that personally. I’m talking sideways rain, muddy fields, freezing parents, and the kind of weather where you start questioning whether the umbrella you’re holding is providing protection or simply giving the wind something to play with.

We brought two tents. TWO. One for the team and one for the parents. And somehow, we still ended up soaked to the bone. At that point, I was seriously considering whether they make those giant inflatable hamster balls in adult sizes.

The kids, naturally, were having the time of their lives, because apparently there is nothing more enjoyable to a child than sprinting through a muddy field in a downpour while their parents slowly develop hypothermia on the sidelines.

And you know what? Watching the smiles on their faces almost made it worth it. Almost.

Two Days, Two Completely Different Seasons

Saturday was everything you could want from a fall soccer tournament. Gorgeous weather, comfortable temperatures, and a chance to actually enjoy being outside without questioning your life choices.

Sunday was an entirely different story. The weather was so bad that tournament organizers adjusted the game times and shortened the games to get everyone finished before conditions deteriorated.

Spoiler alert: conditions had already deteriorated. The rain was coming in sideways, the fields were turning into mud pits, and even with tents and umbrellas, nobody was staying dry.

By the time we were finished, we were all chilled to the bone. Meanwhile, the kids were running around like this was the greatest day of their lives.

Though, even the kids have their limits (or at least mine does.) Between Sunday’s two games, my son was bundled up in his chair, under the team tent, with a waterproof blanket draped over him. A tiny, exhausted soccer burrito trying to survive the elements before heading back out onto the field. Honestly, he had the right idea.

Meanwhile, the rest of us were standing around in various stages of dampness, pretending the tents were doing more than providing a false sense of security.

Nothing quite says fall family fun like huddling under a tent in a monsoon, waiting for your child to voluntarily run back into a mud pit.

What Actually Got Used From My Soccer Bag

A few weeks ago, I shared my “fall sports and soccer sideline essentials.”

Well, this weekend was the ultimate field test, and I’m happy to report that most of what we brought actually earned its place in the wagon.

The chairs and blankets were essential on Saturday, and we certainly attempted to use them on Sunday. The umbrellas were less successful, considering the rain was blowing sideways. At some point, an umbrella becomes more of a decorative accessory than actual protection.

My rain jacket and rain boots, on the other hand? Absolutely necessary. I cannot imagine what condition my feet would’ve been in without those boots. The cooler and snacks got plenty of use, because regardless of the weather, somebody is always hungry.

Our wagon was another lifesaver. Between chairs, blankets, the cooler, bags, and everything else we apparently need to survive a weekend of youth sports, I have no idea how we ever managed without one. We even ended up using the first aid kit to cover a couple of scrapes my son already had, keeping them protected while he played.

And then there were the tents. We brought two of them to give the team and parents some shelter. They certainly helped, but when the rain is coming at you horizontally, there’s only so much a tent can do.

My one regret? Not bringing a giant bubble dome. If someone invents a portable, heated, weatherproof sideline bubble with a cup holder, please let me know. I’ll be your first customer.

A Few Things We Need to Discuss About Sunday’s Game

Now, I’m generally pretty good about remembering that youth sports are supposed to be about the kids. I love cheering them on, watching them improve, and seeing how excited they get when they make a great play.

But Sunday’s game tested my patience. Twice.

First, let’s discuss how goal lines work. My son scored what should have been a perfectly legitimate goal. The ball crossed the line and was approximately a foot into the net. The referee, however, decided the goalie had possession.

Excuse me? I’m certainly not claiming to be a professional referee, but I’m fairly confident that once the ball has completely crossed the goal line, it’s a goal. That call mattered, too. Had the goal counted, our team would have won instead of ending in a tie.

Frustrating? Absolutely. But fine. Bad calls happen. It’s youth soccer. We move on. Or at least we try to.

And then someone apparently confused soccer with hockey.

During that same game, a player from the opposing team, who was easily a full head taller than my son, shoulder-checked him directly in the head.

My son went flying into the mud.

And I went flying out of my chair.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

Now, before anyone gets the wrong impression, I need to clarify something. This was quite literally the first and ONLY time I have ever had an outburst at one of my son’s games. Ever.

I’m usually the mom cheering everyone on, clapping for good plays (even for the opposing team), and generally minding my business on the sidelines. I’m not out there arguing with referees, yelling at other people’s children, or acting like there’s an MLS contract on the line; I know parents like that, and it makes the games miserable to be honest.

But apparently, watching a kid who is a full head taller than your son deliver a completely unnecessary shoulder to his head activates a very specific maternal instinct. One that bypasses the part of your brain responsible for filtering your language in public.

So yes, I momentarily lost my composure. Do I regret the language? Eh, a little.

Would I probably have the exact same reaction if I watched my child get launched into a mud puddle again? Damn right I would.

I’d like to think I have excellent sideline etiquette, it just comes with a very specific set of terms and conditions. Because, my guy, this is soccer. Not hockey.

And even in hockey, that hit would have earned you a penalty. Thankfully, my son was completely fine. The referee saw what happened, awarded our team a penalty kick, and we scored. So at least that call went the right way.

Look, I understand that soccer is a physical sport. Kids are going to bump into each other, fall down, and occasionally get hurt. That’s part of playing.

But there’s a difference between physical play and an unnecessary hit, especially when there’s a significant size difference between the players.

And as a parent, seeing your child take that kind of hit is never fun. Thankfully, he shook it off and kept playing. I, on the other hand, needed a moment.

The Best Part Had Nothing to Do With the Weather

For all my complaining about the rain, the mud, and a couple of questionable moments on the field, there was something pretty wonderful about the weekend.

My son had an absolute blast. He played his heart out, gave it his best, and genuinely enjoyed himself. I even managed to get some great photos of him smiling during the games, including the rainy, muddy ones.

And I think that’s what I’ll remember most. Not the missed call. Not the sideways rain. Not even the fact that I could barely feel my fingers by the time we were done.

I’ll remember the look on his face. The excitement, the confidence, the joy of playing a sport he loves with his teammates.

And I’ll remember all of us standing on the sidelines, cheering for these kids, even when every single one of us would’ve preferred to be somewhere warm and dry.

There’s something special about that little community you build around your kids’ activities. You spend hours together in all kinds of weather, hauling equipment, cheering, complaining, laughing, and collectively wondering why tournament weekends always seem to require enough supplies for a small camping expedition.

But you show up, because seeing your kids happy and doing something they love makes the inconvenience worth it.

Even if you’re soaking wet.

And Then Came the Laundry

You would think that after an entire weekend of soccer, we’d get home, change into comfortable clothes, and relax. And that’s adorable.

Instead, we came home with a muddy uniform, muddy cleats, a muddy soccer bag, and two soaked hoodies. Yes, two hoodies, because the first one was completely drenched after Sunday’s first game, requiring a wardrobe change that ultimately made very little difference.

The uniform needed multiple washes to get the mud out. And one of the hoodies is currently working toward its third or fourth trip through the washing machine. At this point, I’m considering whether the mud has permanently bonded with the fabric, which might be appropriate since it was a tournament specific hoodie.

Meanwhile, my husband was especially exhausted and sore, having volunteered to help set up the nets the night before the tournament even started. Then came the weekend of hauling tents and equipment back and forth. If anyone deserves a medal for this tournament, it would be him.

By Sunday evening, we were all exhausted, chilled, and very ready to be home. But we were also incredibly proud of our son and how he played. And despite everything, we’d do it all again.

Because that’s what we do.

We pack the wagon. We check the weather forecast approximately seventeen times. We bring enough snacks to feed a small village. We cheer until we’re hoarse.

And occasionally, we scream obscenities when someone decides to body-check our child into a mud puddle.

It’s called balance.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a hoodie that needs to go through the wash. Again.

xx Valerie