It’s been a tough soccer season, the mirror image of last year’s spectacular season. We’ve had some tough losses this year, and the only win thus far came last week, when L was home with a bad cough.

This week, she’s back, playing all positions: goalie, defender, mid-fielder, forward.

The irony of that statement is that she often played all those positions at the same time — all the kids do. A sort of herd soccer. They’re beginning to learn about positional play, but they get excited, each and every one of them, and soon, there’s a little herd of green and blue jerseys, all attacking the ball.

Today, there is such hope: we are up one-nil for the first quarter. The green team equalizes, in a sense: one of our players shoots into his own goal trying to clear the ball. Soon, though, we’re up three one.

And then comes the barrage of little number five on the green team: a little blond girl shorter and faster than everyone else on the field, with phenomenal ball control. She shoots one, two, three goals within five minutes.

So we lose, five three. Well, four three. One doesn’t count. But of course it does. But of course, it doesn’t.