The Fish Tacos were not a great team out of the gate. Frankly, we defined futility. Blown out by the Onion Bag Bulgers, 13-4 in our inaugural match, we also lost a couple of good players to injuries. The following week we earned a 4-4 draw against another bad team, Gramma Flappy Arms. The tie gave me reason for optimism, but that draw was the closest we got to a win in our first season.

In our third game we faced off against McCools Dawgs. This was a group of players who worked together at a local bar. They played like a pub team — rough and tumble. It was another lesson that lower division recreational soccer had a much different definition than any of us would have guessed. While the score was only a 10-7 loss, it was a physical slog of a game that didn’t feel as close as the final score indicated.

The remainder of our schedule read like a rap sheet: Team Prehistoric, I Got Worms, Back That Pass Up, Pathetico Madrid and Team Sha’Dynasty committed assault by soccer ball against us. We were shut out twice with the worst defeat being a 16-0 absurdity that left deep psychological wounds in our defensive players. As the goalkeeper, I felt like a battered pinball machine part. The telling statistic from the season was that we were outscored 80 to 27. An anemic offense and a leaky defense — not a master plan for any type of athletic success.

The indoor soccer season lasts for eight games before the next session starts. It’s a merciful chance to start over about every eight weeks. Unfortunately, there is always a little uncertainty because a new season means collecting player fees again and some people don’t come back. We lost a few players after our inaugural session, but the loss that hurt the most was Brenna. She was a very good player on a terrible team. She said she was moving across town, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have come back anyway. She wanted to play with a team of somewhat equal ability.

Player movement presented a new problem. I wanted the Fish Tacos to be welcoming of athletes of all skill levels, but keeping a few great players required being a competitive team. I would have to be more selective regarding who joined us. The advantage was that I wouldn’t have to focus on recruiting just so that we could field enough players to make a team. It would be a balancing act that had its own frustrations.

We had a core returning group and some bright new players joining us for our second season, which renewed my hope. My brother-in-law, Eric, had told me that soccer brings great joy, and at other times it leaves you wondering why you even bother playing. The latter sentiment would rear its head a few times in the coming months.

More to come in Part VI…

Our first game was a bit of a disaster. We were picked apart by a team that seemed really good for lower division soccer and lost to them, 13-4. Most of us on the Fish Tacos worked together at the time, and we had a lot to talk about Monday morning. What turned out to be a more pressing issue than the lopsided score was the injuries sustained by a couple of players.

Arnulfo, our second goalkeeper, had cracked or broken a rib making a save in the second half of the game. He had also bruised his tailbone on another play. Being in his 50s, he decided that to continue playing wouldn’t be in his best interests health wise, so he resigned. He did offer to stay on as a coach, and he recruited his son, Eric, to take his place on the roster.

The other injury was to Garrett, who had wrecked his ankle. Late in the game while making a play, his foot got caught in the turf, and he rolled his ankle badly. It had swollen up quite a bit over the weekend and looked terrible on Monday. He didn’t quit, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to play the following Saturday. His plan was to change from turf shoes to flat sole shoes, thinking that would cut down on the chance of reinjuring himself. He wouldn’t have grip on the turf, but that would keep his foot from getting caught if he tried to pivot on the surface.

Those were the health issues. The other big problem we faced was executing smart tactics. Soccer is a fluid sport, but getting on-field tactics correct can make things a little easier. We had fallen apart fairly quickly on Saturday — a problem that would plague us for months.

When we settled on tactics for a particular game, we could never execute them once we fell behind or got tired, both of which always happened. The goals would start piling up against us and before we knew it, we embodied the old quote, “When you are up to your butt in alligators, it doesn’t do any good to remember that your original objective was to drain the swamp.” Amen. We were trying to survive without being run off the field and into the parking lot.

The issue of getting tired would be resolved once we got into better shape. There was plenty of joking about that and promises from several players to start working out and running during the week. So much for this being a slow-paced league. We were alarmed to think what upper division was like!

Our second game was a week later against Gramma Flappy Arms. I had hoped they would be a group of older players. Alas, it was teens and 20-somethings with a middle-aged player or two. They weren’t very good, but they could — and did — run all night.

We did manage to earn a 4-4 draw out of the match. Perfect result for what would turn out to be the two worst teams in the league. While I was disappointed that Garrett had been able to play all of 30 seconds before his previous injury sidelined him, I was happy that we came out of the game with a tie. I figured — incorrectly — that a win would come the following week. Winning would prove to be rather elusive.

More to come in Part V…

My pregame meal was some sort of turkey and cranberry relish sandwich at McMenamins. The food was mediocre, and I was amped to get going, which didn’t make me particularly good dinner company. Eric, my brother-in-law, was down from Seattle for my first game. My wife, Lisa, was also going to watch.

After a flurry of activity within a short time span, the Fish Tacos were finally ready to hit the field for their first game on November 19, 2011 at 9:00 p.m. As the de facto manager of the team, I told some of my excited but inexperienced teammates that we wouldn’t be getting any tee shirts or trophies for winning the league title. That was met with some disappointment as was the fact that we wouldn’t have our names announced as we stepped on the field to a cheering crowd. It’s Saturday night, coed soccer, guys! We’re lucky they keep score!

I also mentioned to some team members that we could move from lower to upper division the following season should we feel we weren’t being challenged. I had no idea how ridiculous this would sound later. Recreational soccer, as we were to learn, is not recreational. Many players have the misguided belief they should have been professional athletes.

I like to get to games about 20 to 30 minutes early. Eric, Lisa and I all hopped into the car and picked up my teammate Garrett on the way to the Oregon Soccer Center. Garrett and I had spent a few hours at the facility practicing skills, holding foot races, and generally impressing each other with our athletic prowess. We were the first to arrive at the field on opening night while another game was still in progress. Seeing teams in action, moving at game speed, led to another, “Man, what are we doing…?” exchange with Garrett. I was definitely nervous.

Most of the Fish Tacos arrived early so we could discuss strategy and take a team photo. While we were getting ourselves organized for the picture, a couple of players from the team we were facing laughed as they walked by and said we should take the photo while we were still smiling. I thought that was rather gauche for lower division coed recreational soccer and looked forward to beating them.

Indoor soccer and its outdoor counterpart differ in more ways than the field. The speed of the game is faster indoors, and the game length is shorter. There are two halves. Each half lasts 22 minutes. Halftime is a two-minute break, and pregame warm-ups are also short because of the number of matches a facility schedules each night. In order to encourage women to participate and not just stand out of the way while the men go at it, women’s goals count for two points and men’s count for one. It’s a stupid rule because the women are generally better players than the men, but it’s the rule with which we’re stuck in coed indoor.

We were playing a team named the Onion Bag Bulgers. A bulge in the ol’ onion bag is a soccer idiom for putting a ball in the net, or scoring a goal. That should have been a red flag. It didn’t take long for them to overpower and run us out of the building.

The speed of the game and the expertise of the team we were playing against led to things getting out of hand early. That strategy session we had before the match? It exploded almost immediately. The Onion Bag Bulgers looked like they had played together for years. They actually ran plays while we simply ran out of gas. We worried that one of our guys was going to have a heart attack after he ran up and down the field a couple times and had to come off. We were rattled, disorganized, and out of shape. We couldn’t breathe, we couldn’t score, and we certainly couldn’t defend well. The women’s goals were killing us, too.

I spent the first half as goalkeeper. While I made a lot of saves, a lot of balls got past me. Garrett was a big help as our sweeper and gave me some confidence, but there were a number of times when it was just the two of us in the back trying to prevent a goal against a sea of black shirts while the rest of our team was caught up field. The Onion Bag Bulgers ran through us like Sherman’s army ran through Atlanta. The second half wasn’t much better. Arnulfo, our other goalkeeper, had been a league champion during his younger days in Mexico. Even he couldn’t stop the onslaught. We were able to prevent a shutout but lost the game 13-4.

Our team displayed a few good moments. We did score after all! Eric thought I’d done well for someone who had never played before. He said it looked as though I knew what I was doing, which was an appreciated compliment. I was optimistic that the Fish Tacos would be in most of the games we played.

Was the match fun? Actually, yes. Did I wonder how in the world this was considered lower division recreational soccer? Yes, and I’d ponder that a lot over the coming months. Did I want to play again? Absolutely, and our next game was against a team named Gramma Flappy Arms. That sounded like a group of older players we’d do well against. Things were looking up already!

Since most of us worked together, we had a lot to talk about at the office on Monday. Unfortunately, we had more to discuss than I thought. Some lessons were to come early.

More to come in Part IV…