UNC-Greensboro and The Penguin

UNC-Greensboro and The Penguin

Oh the symbolism...

Last night Beth was working so Izzy and I were gonna have ourselves a Daddy Delight Dinner: thick ribeye steaks, steamed clams, and some grilled vegetables that we could throw out later.  But first there was a little issue of math homework that needed tending to.  Seeing Izzy’s allergy to homework, it’s fascinating that we’re not blood relatives and I’m sure my parents are enjoying some sense of cosmic justice about that.  Izzy is a Level Five expert at homework avoidance and I find myself trying to impart the same failed logic onto her that my parents tried imparting on me with the same disastrous results: If you didn’t spend all this time trying not to do your homework, you’d be done by now.  Yeah.  Because that works.

Well, pretty early in my parenting journey in a desperate attempt to motivate Izzy to do some math, I reflexively turned to coaching… because this is healthy.  I broke out my stopwatch and challenged her to finish her sheet of addition problems in ten minutes. I told her I didn’t think she could do it.  You’d have to be reeeeeallllyyyy smart to finish in ten minutes.  (I may have also bribed her with the promise of a bowl of whipped cream.)  Nine and a half minutes later – BAM!  She was done.  And wasn’t I feeling like quite the problem-solver?  I’m not so sure that the timing method would get Dr. Spock’s seal of approval, but it gets the homework done and saves me the aggravation of arguing with a seven-year old, so as far as I can tell, it’s a win-win.  By the time she needs counseling she’ll have graduated, right?  In fairness, I try to use the math-for-time technique (which I’m pretty sure I invented) only as a last resort.  Well yesterday was one of those days when Izzy’s math just wasn’t going to get done if I didn’t turn it into a competition, so out came the watch.  On the bright side, she finished 100 math problems in seven minutes.  Unfortunately she got five wrong.  When I saw that she got 7+3 wrong (I think), I said, “C’mon Iz, you know better than that.  How did you get that wrong?”

She shook her head and said, “I just wasn’t focused.”

Huh?

That’s when I began to wonder if Izzy wasn’t spending a little too much time around our team. Did she really just say ‘focused?’  If she ever asks me to wrap her ankle before school, I’m banning her from the training room.

As for the Dawgs…

Our non-conference schedule concluded with a trip to visit our old friend Nooj at UNC-Greensboro.  We knew Nooj’s side would be ready to stand toe to toe with the Georgia Bulldogs.  Some quote/unquote “mid-majors” fall to pieces when a BCS conference team walks onto the field.  UNC-G?  Notsomuch. There’s nothing “mid” about the UNC-G soccer program and its storied history of success.  The Spartans non-conference schedule has basically been a suicide mission as the defending Southern Conference champions have squared off with Duke, UNC, Wake Forest, Tennessee and Virginia Tech.  They’ve seen some of the best soccer this country has to offer so as far as they were concerned, we were just the same Dawg with different fleas.

We knew we wouldn’t face another coach who knew more about us than Nooj.  He had either coached or helped recruit practically all of our players.  He knows our system and our style as well as any coach ever will.  He was familiar with every player we would put on the field and had surely passed that information onto his players.  So neither tactics nor style was going to win that match for us; it was going to be all about winning our individual battles.  And that’s how we framed it for our team: Knowing that the kid you’re up against knows more about you than you’ll ever know about her, can you still look her in the eye and I say I’m gonna whoop you?

For the second match in a row we got off to a quick start and looked pretty sharp going forward.  Ashley Miller got us on the board in the 8thminute.  J.O., back to goal at the six, held off a defender and laid an inviting pass back to Mills who smacked a first-time shot through a crowd of defenders to put us up 1-0.  Fourteen minutes later Maddy Barker got on the end of a big cross from Lex and banked her half-volley off the post to double our lead.  And that’s where the carnival began.

Have you been reading the Poet blogs lately?  Specifically, have you read the last one?  You know this thing we have about conceding a goal shortly after we score one?  Yeah well we set a new benchmark for ineptitude by allowing the Spartans to answer our goal with one of their own a mere seventeen seconds later.  And I’m pretty sure I had an aneurysm right there on the bench.  Seventeen seconds?  Do you know how many things you can’t do in seventeen seconds?  It takes me longer than that to get down and back from my mailbox.  It takes longer to send a fax.  It takes longer to eat a single Buffalo wing.  Seventeen seconds!  It’s an infinitesimally small segment of time we’re talking about here.  And you know what?  From the bench we could absolutely see it coming.  It was like watching a car wreck develop and being helpless to prevent it.

Our celebration of Maddie’s goal was textbook contentment.  Our collective posture changed from determined to leisurely. Oh look at us.  We’re winning 2-0.  Woo Hoo.  Great news everybody!  The game’s over.

Except well, you know.

UNC-G tapped off the ball and the next time we touched it we were picking it out of our net.  Six players could have prevented the goal.  None of them did.  Instead we mailed in the effort and Greensboro made us pay.  I may be out of ways to explain this to our team and the fact that we can’t learn our lesson has me completely perplexed.  I mean how many times do you have to burn your hand on a hot stove before you stop putting your freaking hand on a hot stove?  Exactly how many disasters does it take before you bridge that little disconnect?

You see the greater lesson here is not just that the margin on the scoreboard shrunk and it’s not that we lost another freaking shutout.  The real lesson here is how that goal changed the entire complexion of the game.  We had UNCG under some heavily sustained pressure between our first goal and our second.  Their spirit was wavering.  When we went up by two we were looking at an opportunity to end the game by halftime.  Instead we give up the goal and suddenly they are energized and rejuvenated and anything else that generally means a bigger problem than they were eighteen seconds earlier.  They start playing with renewed spirit and now we have to withstand the storm for the next few minutes all because we didn’t think it was important enough to rid them of their belief.  Hey!  Who wants to see if the stove is hot?  

I gotta give Anson credit.  Even when his team was the team, even when they were head and shoulders above the second best team, they didn’t take their foot off the gas until their opponent was good and dead.  I would wager that they went for the kill better than any team in the history of organized sport.  They didn’t know what it meant to ease up.  They didn’t just outscore opponents; they beat them into tiny clouds of demoralized dust.  Yes they routinely smoked their outclassed opponents by a 9-0 score-line, and yes some of that can be attributed to a talent gap.  But how many times does a team that can win by nine actually have the commitment to do so?  More impressive still was the Tar Heels commitment to pounding one opponent after another by nine goals.  You might think that after you rattle off seven straight wins by outscoring your opponents 56-0, your players might get a little bit satisfied or even bored and show some signs of human nature.  But nope, not the Heels.  When they played it was total bloodlust.

I remember watching the 1992 national final on television when the Tar heels clobbered Duke 9-1.  Here’s an interesting fact you may not know about that match: Duke scored first.  Yep, Duke scored first on a brilliant diving header to take the lead.  Moments later the Carolina massacre commenced.  Once Carolina bagged the first they scored so many in succession that the UNC pep band literally couldn’t keep up.  UNC scored and the band dutifully began playing the Tar Heel fight song.  Before the song had ended, UNC had scored again.  The band still had to finish a few bars of the first rendition and then immediately begin the second one.  Just moments later, another UNC goal beat the band to the end of its second rendition.  The Heels went in for the kill with an urgency that would make a shark blush; and that was their defining quality.

Here’s the thing… who in the world was ever going to come back from three goals down to beat a team with Lilly, Hamm, Venturini, etc?  You know who?  No one!  Absolutely no one!  And the Heels knew that!  If there was ever a team that could afford to get a little comfortable with a three-goal lead, it was the UNC teams of the late 80s and early 90s. But they didn’t.  They beat dead horses with such fervor that it seems almost impossible to imagine.  That 1992 team outscored its opponents 132-11!  For every one goal they conceded they scored 12!  Are you kidding me???  At that time it was practically a birth-rite for Carolina seniors to graduate with four national championship rings.   I mean what did they really have left to prove?  Not a darned thing.  But they attacked every opponent like it was a matter of life and death and they beat those opponents until it was only a matter of death.  When I look at a team like that and the bar it set for the psychology of competition, it dumbfounds me that any team could get complacent with just a two-goal lead and 70 minutes left to play.  Are you feeling my pain here?

Okay, I’m a simple man and I don’t have a lot of big thoughts but the whole competition thing always made perfect sense to me: Beat them down until they can’t get back up because if you don’t, you might lose.  Was I the only person at school that day?

You know what this is like?  It’s like the old Batman show where the Penguin would capture Batman and Robin and instead of just, you know, killing them, he’d tie them to some type of elaborate conveyor belt-of-death and then leave the building, assuming that the Dynamic Duo would end up getting chopped into pieces by the giant band-saw.  Of course the good guys would always escape in the nick of time and go on to save the day in a 2 v 12 battle royal.  Penguin never learned his lesson either.  I mean how many times do you let the enemy escape the newfangled death-trap before you disperse with all the drama and just shoot them?  Hot stove, Penguin.  Hot stove.

Anyway, UNC-G had brought the game to 2-1 and we had to start all over again.  Meghan Gibbons had two brilliant assists on the night, and the first one was a one-time redirect of a long ball from Jenna Bukley that sent Torri Allen in on goal from 30 yards.  Torri outraced a defender before side-footing a shot past the charging goalkeeper and we had reclaimed our two-goal lead five minutes before the break.

Torri’s goal gave us a little breathing room but with our pattern of intermittent consciousness, who knew how long that would last?  Calculating an emotional surge by the Spartans coming out of the intermission, we figured the result would likely be decided in the first ten minutes of the second half.  If we could keep UNC-G off the board early, it was going to be difficult for them to erase our margin.  The key was beating them to the punch and outmatching them emotionally in the opening minutes.  We needed to reestablish the momentum wave we’d been riding when the first half expired.

Thankfully we came fast off the blocks and had several solid chances to stretch our lead.  Jamie Pollock had a great chance from a corner kick but her shot was deflected off the line by a fortuitously positioned post player.  Minutes later, Lex curled a shot from 22 yards that was earmarked for the upper corner of the far post but the Spartan goalkeeper made a sensational play to parry it over the bar.  We finally broke through in the 82ndminute when Carli Shultis dispossessed one of the Spartans along the sideline in front of our bench.  Shultis quickly shuffled the ball forward to Meghan Gibbons who ran through one tackle near midfield to start a fast break into the UNC-G goal-box.  When she was eight yards from goal, Gibbons threaded a dazzling pass across the face of the goal to Sooz Dennis.  Sooz outfought her defender for position and buried her chance into the side netting to close out the scoring.

One of the things you learn to lean on in coaching is the constants.  Some players are thoroughly unpredictable from one match to the next and that’s just maddening because none of us are fortune tellers.  When you know what you’re going to get from a player, it makes the job a lot easier.  And with Sooz we know we’re always going to get tireless work rate and infinite courage and a relentless commitment to the cause.  You get eleven players that play with her conviction and you’ll hardly lose anything, and even if you do, you’ll walk away with a clear conscience.

Sooz has had plenty do with a lot of the goals we’ve scored this year, particularly in Minnesota, but that was her first time as the actual goal-scorer in 2011.  It’s nice to see a player who works so hard finally get a sliver of the spotlight pie.  She’s sure earned it.

The 4-1 win was a nice way to end our non-conference schedule.  On Friday night an outstanding Florida Gators team comes to Athens to ring in SEC action.  Should be an exciting one.  Hope to see you out there!

Therapy

Therapy

Do you remember the first Rocky? There’s a scene where the polished Apollo Creed in a suit and tie sits in his office with his stable of agents and promoters, doing what he can to promote the fight and expand his brand. “Remember to send the mayor’s wife 200 roses from me and make sure we get a picture for the newspapers,” he says.

Behind him his trainer is focused on a local news telecast. He’s watching Rocky Balboa in a meat-packer's freezer, his bloody hands pounding away on a side of beef, looking every bit of the determined challenger you had better not take too lightly. The trainer interrupts Apollo’s powwow and says, “Champ, you’d better come look at this boy you’re gonna fight on TV. Looks like he means business.” Apollo brushes the warning aside with a thoroughly unconvincing, “Yeah, yeah I mean business, too.” And his trainer recognizes the red flag. His fighter is not giving this opponent the respect he warrants. Every half-decent coach knows the danger of underestimating the opponent and spends a sizeable block of his time trying to warn his fighter/player/team about committing that competitive sin. But some things you just can’t teach. Sometimes it takes the other guy smacking you right in the mouth to get the point across.

Meet Mercer.

I’ve been saying this (although not always out loud) since last year, but our team at Georgia isn’t competitively mature. That’s been the knock on the Dawgs for years: they lack bite. Oh the irony. It’s a mystifying trait for a group of accomplished players to be missing and a frustrating one to attempt to instill in them.

I see two very large, bright red flags waving over our team’s mentality: we are slow starters and we give back leads almost as soon as we take them. These are not characteristics of a team you’d hate to play. And that’s what every team strives to be.

When you start slow, you really don’t need any other mentality issues. That one alone is enough to bankrupt you with therapy, and it totally confounds me. For the amount of time you spend preparing to play (training, lifting, video, etc.), you would think that when the chance to actually put on your uniform and play a match was upon you that it would look like you were fired out of a cannon. But that’s not been the case for us. We wade into matches as if we were easing our way into a chilly swimming pool. That’s an excellent way not to win.

The part about giving back leads, well, let’s face it, that’s no darn good either unless you plan on scoring eighty-nine minutes and fifty seconds into every match. And we don’t.

When we score, we should recognize the opportunity to step on the gas and annihilate our opponent. That first goal should be the catalyst for a feeding frenzy. For us it’s been more like a time to pet kittens. And we’ve paid the price over and over and over again. Yet nothing changes.

We saw this movie last year: We go down to Macon and warn our players that this match is the game of the year for their players – that they are going to take it personally. We tell them that we had better take the field with intensity and that we had better do our very best to put them away quickly. And of course we do none of that. Instead we play with all the intensity of the hippies stringing beads on Telegraph Avenue and find ourselves staring at a 2-0 half-time deficit. We woke up at halftime, tied the game with just over two minutes to play and went onto win in overtime. Yes, it was a great to win but when you only play for 50% of a match and spot your opponent two goals, you really shouldn’t bank on a whole lot of victories coming your way.

On Thursday Steve reminded our players about the 2010 fiasco an urged them to start the 2011 match with urgency. The message was repeated before we took the field on Friday night. I told the team about the value of competitive paranoia. I read them a brief story about going in for the kill. They seemed genuinely inspired when we took the field. In hindsight, they were not.

Mercer on the other hand was foaming at the mouth. They were riding an undefeated/unscored-upon wave to start the season and had no intentions of kissing those streaks goodbye without one heckuva fight. When the whistle blew to start the match, the Bears did their very best impersonation of Rocky Balboa. Us? Yeah, yeah. We mean business, too.

We brought no fight to the fight. I mean we were just plain apathetic. Mercer was winning every 50-50 ball and knocking us around the park for the fun of it. That team was on a mission and their determination was running right over our talent.

In the fourteenth minute, during one of our rare forays near the Bears’ goal, Sooz was chopped down to draw a penalty kick. Lex buried her shot to stake us to a 1-0 lead.

Now here’s the thing… you might think that with the way the game had been going our team might realize that we had, against the tide, counter-punched our way into a marvelous opportunity to change the entire complexity of the fight. You would think that we would have seen that goal as a chance to pick up our sense of urgency and go in for the knockout. Yes you might think that. And of course you’d be dead wrong. Because in our world, that goal made everything right. It didn’t matter that we had gotten our tails whipped for the thirteen minutes that led up to it. All that mattered was that we had scored so now it was time for our opponent to lay down their arms and surrender because that’s how the world works. Let’s color!

Three minutes later the score was 1-1 and we looked really surprised.

We did nothing more than survive the rest of the first half. Making it into the break level at 1-1 was a victory in itself because statistically we had gotten pummeled. Mercer had outshot us 10-6 and taken five corner kicks to our one. More than that, they had physically creamed us all over the park. They had outworked us like nothing I’ve seen. The simple truth of the matter was that winning the game meant more to their players than it did to ours.

Half-time was not going to be about tactics. It was time for a come-to-Jesus and man we rattled the walls. I was tired of being polite mainly because it wasn’t getting us anywhere. I was tired of being taught the same lesson over and over without ever learning it. It was time to get personal and see what these players were really made of. We needed to see how they would respond. We needed to see if it really mattered to them because they sure as heck hadn’t proven that it did.

The second half was so drastically different than the first that it’s hard to imagine it was the same group of players on the field. When you speak to a team, you never know who is really going to get the message. Well, I can tell you that Jamie Pollock sure as heck did. When the whistle blew to start the second half, J.P. looked like she was running on rocket fuel. Every single thing she did cried out that she was not going to let us lose that game. She was flying into tackles. She was suddenly dominating the air. She was a one-woman wrecking ball and it was a glorious sight to behold. Ever seen those games where it looks like one player says, “Get on my back because I’m going to win this game?” Yeah, that was J.P. She ran and ran and ran. Everywhere the ball went, J.P. seemed to be on top of it. She was so determined to win that game that she nearly scored twice by hurtling herself into scrums in front of the Mercer goal. Thankfully J.P. was not the only one to experience an awakening.

Lex was so good in the second half that I realized I really had no idea how good Lex could actually be. Talk about a player flipping a switch! Lex was a totally different player after the break, and by “totally different” I mean practically unrecognizable. She was playing like her life depended on it and it was frightening! But J.P. and Lex weren’t the only ones who drank the half-time Kool-Aid. Miller also rose from the dead, as did Locandro and pretty much everyone wearing red and black. Suddenly we were playing like our lives depended on it and what a difference that’ll make!

The statistics backed up our revival as we outshot the Bears 15-5 in the second half. Unfortunately, although we came very close on a few occasions, we didn’t actually score and for the second time in three matches we were headed to overtime. J.P. had sprinted so many miles for us that she left the field with leg cramps a few minutes before the second half had expired and we debated putting her back in for the overtime. If she cramped again we could be playing ten against eleven at the decisive moment. But ultimately we knew that J.P. had been the best player on the field in the second half and as a senior we wanted her to have a say in her own destiny, so we stuck her back on and prayed for the best.

I’ve heard that there are dogs who will literally chase a ball for you until they die. I was reminded of that by Ashley Miller who was playing so hard while on the verge of utter exhaustion. Whenever she got the ball at her feet she was pushing to make things happen. Five minutes into the first overtime, Miller, playing on what had to be an empty tank, dribbled her way into the heart of the Mercer defense with a series of moves that gave her enough room to get off a shot. That shot was blocked before it even made it to the eighteen, but it set in motion a series of events that would decide the game. J.P. outraced a Mercer defender to the deflection, tackled the ball through a second defender and suddenly found herself with a shooting window from seventeen yards. J.P. crushed her strike toward the top part of the net where it was saved but not held by the goalkeeper. The rebound trickled tantalizingly along the face of the goal toward the far post. As Pollock wound up to shoot, Lex had moved in to hunt a rebound and lo and behold, a rebound appeared. From one yard off the goal-line and two yards wide of the post, Lex scooped her chance from the most acute of angles into the net, the crowd of 1,500 erupted, and the Dawgs had won our third straight. As for me, well, another six years were shaved from my life but this is the path I’ve chosen. The night was a microcosm of an entire season – the lowest of lows and the earth-moving highs; the challenges both physical and emotional; the evolution between arriving as players and leaving as a unified team – all in less than two hours. I was happy and I was relieved. I was also completely wiped. And I knew that this was no way for a team to exist day in and day out. Yes, we had corrected our path, but that didn’t mean the navigation system didn’t need a major repair. Our first half was going to dominate my thoughts for the rest of the night.

Being flat to start a match is something I’ll never really understand and the only point of reference I have is my own time as a college athlete. I understand that I was wired differently than a lot of other people but I really don’t know how or why. I just know that hours before each game my stomach was in knots, churning at the thought of losing. The thought of winning didn’t motivate me nearly as much as the prospect of losing. I was scared to death that I was going to lose every time I put on my jersey and I couldn’t wait for the game to start so I could do everything in my power not to let that happen. When the game was about to start I looked at my opponent and thought That guy wants to make me lose. And that flipped a switch inside of me that I can only explain as that moment in a movie when the alarms go off inside the nuclear reactor and everyone starts scrambling around in a mad frenzy shouting things like Move to DEFCON 5! Think about how simple that is: He wants me to lose. For me that was all it took (especially because there was also the distinct possibility that he was more talented than me). The thought that my opponent wanted to cause me emotional pain was all I needed to try and eradicate him from the planet.

A few days before the Mercer match I was talking with Steve about my competitive paranoia. For me, no lead was ever big enough. If we were winning 4-0, I was petrified of being on the wrong end of some miraculous comeback. If we were up by four goals I was desperate for a fifth. If we were up by five I needed a sixth. And as a coach my life would be so much easier if our players shared my particular neurosis if only for the simple fact that they would never ever take their collective foot off the gas.

On Saturday we had a very light training session that concluded with a team meeting about our competitive mentality. It was a brief but it seemed that the point had gotten through. We needed to start faster and to be more committed to knocking out a wounded opponent. But we wouldn’t know for sure until Sunday’s match against Georgia State.

Most teams have one moment each season where they go through a thing like this, and whatever that thing may be, once it’s addressed the team will come together and rally with unprecedented conviction to make things right. You don’t want to be coaching the team they play the next day. Meet Georgia State.

As if we were trying to convince a higher power that we had learned our lesson and wouldn’t do it again, we went after Georgia State with a commitment and ferocity previously unreached. Forty-four seconds into the match Miller staked us to a lead and I couldn’t help but think that the Panthers had caught us on the wrong stinkin’ day. We weren’t just playing hard; we were playing in a rage. This time, instead of celebrating our good fortune, we became determined to parlay it into an even bigger one. Ten minutes later Lex doubled our lead and we showed no signs of easing up. Maddie Barker cashed in on a corner kick five minutes before the intermission to get us to 3-0. Eight minutes into the second half Lex headed home a cross from J.O. to bring us to 4-0 en route to a 4-1 final. Lex had also assisted on the goals from Miller and Barker meaning that of the six goals we scored on the weekend, Lex had scored four and assisted on the others. Not too shabby, right? Caitlin Woody saw her first official action as a college goalkeeper in the second half and made two fantastic saves while Tori Cooper collected an assist in her college debut. All in all a good day.

So, will our newfound killer-instinct stick? That’d be dandy but we’ll only know one game at a time. The next test will be Friday at UNC-G. It’s our last non-conference game and we need to win it. Let’s see what pack of Dawgs shows up.

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Two in Minnesota

Two in Minnesota

“Winning solves a lot of problems.”

-Everyone who has ever coached

After a spectacularly bad weekend at home, the Dawgs took the show on the road to Minneapolis for a four-team tournament at the University of Minnesota. The trip held all types of potential – both bad and good. We were going to open against the hosts on Friday night, and the Golden Gophers are a very strong program. If we took a third straight defeat, we were going to be contending with some morale issues. A win on the other hand would be a tremendous boost for our spirits and set us up for an away sweep – something that is much easier said than done. So at 6 A.M. Thursday we set off for the ATL and a flight for the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

We got a light training session in on the practice field on Thursday afternoon and realized that the grass up north wasn’t going to do us any favors. It was longer than the Bermuda we play on, but more than that, it had a spongy thickness that tended to swallow the ball – sorta like playing on flypaper. So we spent some of training trying to adjust to the new surface, and not doing it all that well I might add. Still, it was nice to have a day to prepare on the new pitch and after a while we felt we could possibly maintain the style of soccer we wanted to play.

That night we had a team dinner at Macaroni Grill, a nice but otherwise innocuous event had it not been for the two casualties that meal may or may not have claimed. Two hours later Jon Harvey was sick as a dog. The next morning at breakfast, Robin, who had sampled Jon’s plate, wasn’t looking too much better. Thankfully, if we had to take on more casualties, it was the coaches and not the players. We’re running too low on them as it is.

Friday was a long hotel day as we counted down the hours to kick-off against Minnesota. I was bored enough to join Mandy on a trip to a Cub Foods pharmacy to pick up some medicine – just for the thirty minute change of scenery. I saw the bus pull up outside and was like Field Trip! I'm outta here!

Initially we went to the wrong Cub Foods location (naturally) before getting the navigation sorted out and reaching our actual target. That is typically how these field trips go which is one more reason why I never pay attention to the route we take to anywhere. Bailey Powell came along as well which proved to be the real highlight of the trip once we arrived at our intended destination. As we walked into the supermarket, Bailey caught the eye of a young male clerk who immediately came down with a very bad schoolboy case of love at first sight. The kid was star-struck enough to look like he’d never even seen a girl before. His eyes got wide as flapjacks and I half expected him to pass out. As we strolled by his cigarette kiosk, he couldn't have been more ecstatic about having the honor of pointing us toward the pharmacy. But he was also desperate to prolong the moment with Bay. So in what I’m certain must have been some type of panicked say-anything-but-say-it-now verbal upchuck, he asked Bay was interested in the special they were having on flu shots.

Huh?

Holy crash and burn. Flu shots? Really? The cigarette kid was asking about flu shots? Ahhhh…. young love gone awry.

I couldn’t help but feel for the boy but my word, flu shots? Not really sweep-her-off-her-feet material, ya know?

We politely declined but as we passed by I noticed the boy was suddenly tethered to Bailey by some twenty feet of invisible rope. It reminded me of Deadliest Catch when they throw the hook overboard and snag the trap line. It looked like the boy was literally yanked from behind his counter and was being towed in Bailey’s wake. Mandy and I had a good laugh at Bay’s hold on the smitten young man. Unfortunately for his sake, Bay hadn’t even noticed. That moment made the whole excursion worthwhile.

After a late lunch, Steve and I went on to the stadium to scout the Iowa State v Wisconsin-Milwaukee match. The match seemed exceptionally slow and we began to wonder how big of an affect the longer grass was actually having. Those players didn’t look any less athletic than ours, but the game surely lacked the pace we were accustomed to watching. And we still hadn’t set foot on the game field where the grass was potentially longer than on the practice surface. We began discussing the possibility of having to play a more direct style of soccer.

At half-time our bus rolled up and we shifted our focus onto the game at hand against Minnesota. In my pregame remarks I reminded the team of how blessed we were to have opportunities like these; that our university flew us halfway across the country just to play some soccer and that we got to do that surrounded by our best friends. And I reminded them that these days won’t last forever and that they’d surely miss them when they had gone, so we needed to make the most of these opportunities we’d been given.

Minnesota is a strong program from the Big 10 and we were expecting Big 10 type players – namely blue-collar, corn-fed kids who would run and work all game long. And that’s precisely what we got – a whole roster full of grinders.

Our style of play fits SEC field surfaces. Likewise, Minnesota’s style fits their surface. And in the beginning, their style was killing ours. As we tried to keep hold of the ball, the grass kept getting in our way. A pass that we could bank on reaching its target in Athens would arrive late or not at all on the thicker surface. Minnesota was pouncing on those passes and pounding them deep in our end. When we tried to dribble the grass would reach up and grab an ankle and the ball would get caught underneath us. Our engines couldn’t seem to get out of first gear.

Three minutes into the match the Gophers hit a cross from their right wing that was met by a header at the back post but Ashley Baker got down and made a stellar save to keep the match scoreless. It was indicative of what the night would hold.

One scouting report said that Minnesota was the hardest working team in the country and twenty minutes into the match I had no reason to think otherwise. Every player on that team was a ball-winner. They’re heading was as good as any team I’ve seen. They were all-out grinders that played a style based on territory and an uncanny willingness to chase. There wasn’t much short passing. It was more about getting the ball forward, getting it behind us, and then working like mad to cause problems. It actually reminded me of a hockey team, which I found a little bit ironic, being in Minnesota and all.

By the middle of the period we knew we had to concede our style or we were never going to win that game. We occasionally mounted some dangerous attacks but by and large the majority of the half was played on our side of the field. (Incidentally, the stat sheet was more lopsided than the game itself as it claimed a 9-2 advantage in first half shots for the hosts. In actuality we took six shots during that half. I know because I watched the video and counted.) We decided to do our best to weather the storm until halftime and then make some adjustments. We managed to do both as the half ended scoreless.

(Note: There is a certain sensitivity about these post-game reports. Out of respect to our opponents I’ve got to stay a little bit vague, elst the Poet serves as a scouting report and that wouldn’t go over very well. So when it comes to things such as specific systems and specific players, I’m going to bite my tongue a little bit. Consider this your blanket disclaimer for the life of this website.)

We switched our system at half-time. Equally important, we overhauled our style. The long and short of it was that we needed to just forget about possessing the ball because it wasn’t going to work. Between the way our opponents crowded the middle of the park and the slower surface, there just wasn’t any point in trying to keep the ball. There was no way for it to work. Plus, the way UM pressed up its defenders, there was room to play balls in behind them and that’s what we needed to start doing. So basically we set out to play the way a team would play on a field full of standing water: don’t bother passing, just lump it deep and try to free a forward into space. We needed to get the ball in the air and eliminate extra touches whenever possible. Dribbling was basically outlawed. We needed to get the ball forward and get it there quickly.

So with about four minutes of instruction, playing a system and style we’d never played or even discussed, we took the field in the second half and gave it a go. And wouldn’t you know, it worked beautifully. The change in system took some steam out of the Gopher attack while the change in style breathed life into our own.

We fired out of the break and immediately jumped on the offensive. Lex’s 25-yard strike off the crossbar was the most dangerous of the handful of early chances we created. More importantly, the clang of the ball off the bar literally changed the tone of the game. Lex’s shot capped an avalanche of early pressure we’d been applying and announced that the Gophers no longer held a monopoly on momentum. Now we had two teams playing the same direct style and the game completely opened up. It went from a chance at one end to a chance at the other and back again. It reminded me a bit of the NBA All-Star game (provided the NBA players never actually made their shots). Most importantly, we were getting in behind them with some degree of regularity and it felt like eventually we would cash in on one of our chances.

Minnesota came frighteningly close to going ahead after fifteen minutes but in a whirlwind of soccer chaos that might best be described as the mother of all goalmouth scrambles, Baker made a big save and Torri made another before one of the Gophers bombed a sitter over the bar. They had three excellent chances in the span of four seconds but we had escaped.

As the half wore on we were getting tantalizingly close to delivering that one ball that would put us clear in behind our opponent. We twice thought our moment had arrived but both times fell victim to the offsides flag. Still, we were getting the delivery. UM’s back line was living dangerously. It was only a matter of time before all the pieces fell into place. Then, in the 77thminute, Sooz volleyed a pass that split the Gopher defense and fell gloriously into the path of Meghan Gibbons who had timed her run just well enough to stay onsides. Okay, here’s the running thing about Gibbons (I’d call it a running joke but there’s really no joke to it): Meghan Gibbons has scored more goals into a completely empty net than any player in the history of college soccer – and she’s only a sophomore. I don’t know how she does it, but somehow she always ends up behind the goalkeeper with the ball at her feet. I’m at the point where I almost don’t expect her to score any other way… which is why I wasn’t too terribly excited to see her on a breakaway. I knew the defenders didn’t have a chance to catch her, but that dang goalkeeper might pose be a problem. It’s not that Meghan can’t score when there’s a goalkeeper in the net; it’s just that I can’t remember seeing her do it. So Meghan goes alone on goal, calmly steadies herself and then tries sliding her hot into the far post. The goalkeeper blocks it, but naturally the rebound ricochets back off Meghan and then in turn back behind the goalkeeper leaving Meghan standing with the ball at her feet, five yards from a completely empty net. Meghan doesn’t miss from there. I mean let’s face it, that’s her spot. We call it the Gibbo Special. It was a carbon copy of a goal she scored against Kansas last fall and it gave us a 1-0 lead.

You may recall our woes on defensive corners. Well yeah, apparently they’re not going away anytime soon. With just over five minutes to play, UM equalized from a corner kick and we were straight back to square one. Corner kick goals have been our Achilles leg since the season began and when we conceded yet another, I was curious how we’d respond. That goal had the potential to completely deflate us after a great half of soccer and that would have been no darn good for the Bulldogs.

Things got even hairier when Torri Allen was carted off with an injury in the game’s final minute. In spite of all of our injury woes, center back is a place where we are, blessedly, a little bit over-staffed. We are lucky to have three excellent center backs and Jenna Buckley would serve as Torri’s replacement to see us home. But Torri’s injury would further complicate matters as we headed into our first overtime of 2011. Thankfully it wasn’t a long one.

The Minnesota game included the debut of freshman Jenna Owens. J.O. was part of our injured blondes committee for a few weeks, but she was finally given the green light for the match with the Gophers. We knew J.O. had the potential to be one heckuva college soccer player and now some other people do, too. She had a strong all-around game and caused a lot of problems, but her shining moment came a minute and seventeen seconds into overtime when she sailed a left-footed cross smack on the head of Alexa Newfield who stood unmarked at the middle of the six-yard line. Lex snapped her header past the diving goalkeeper and just like that we had an important victory away from home against a very good team.

I’m glad we won. I really am. Heck, I’m thrilled beyond words that we won. But that was one of those games that was just a pleasure to be a part of. It was also one of those games that shaved another five years off my life. It was high-drama from beginning to end, particularly in the second half. Having watched the film I realized that match could very easily have been 5-5. I’d forgotten about how many fantastic saves Minnesota’s keeper had made. I couldn’t possibly have more respect for the Gophers. Those kids worked and worked and worked and had it not been for a few spectacular saves from Baker, they would have won. But Baker did her job and our goal-scorers did theirs and we won one helluva soccer game - one we desperately needed to win. I only wished that Jon could’ve been there to see it, especially considering the performance of his protg, Ashley Baker.

As I finished walking through the handshake line I crossed paths with Jenna Buckley who wryly smiled and said, “See. You should have put me in earlier.” Jenna had been on the field for two minutes and ten seconds when Lex scored. To be fair, the girl is nothing if not efficient.

It’s funny what winning can do for things like morale and confidence. The win over Minnesota rekindled both of those qualities in our camp. As a staff we were particularly happy with the way the players responded to the half-time makeover. We asked them to scrap everything we had done since August 4thand to completely change the way we played. They went out and did exactly what we asked of them and they did it beautifully. Thank God it actually worked.

So it’s Saturday in Minneapolis. We’ve got 22 college girls in our charge. Is there any doubt about where we’ll spend our off day? Of course not. We’re going to the Mall of America – a four-story retail Mecca complete with bowling alley, ice rink and an indoor amusement park. The girls were downright giddy when they boarded the bus and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of the Brady Bunch movie: Put on your Sunday best, kids; we’re going to Sears! And I couldn’t help but wish to be a fly on the wall at some of their homes when their parents open next month’s credit card statements. Good night!

There was actually one person steadfastly opposed to taking a team trip to the mall – Robin. Seems that when she was playing at Carolina they spent a mall Saturday between Friday-Sunday matches and on Sunday only managed a tie against Notre Dame. That had Steve, Jon and I in stitches because it’s one more shining example of how Robin’s reality is different from our own. If almost any other coach in the country tied Notre Dame after a day at the mall, they’d be taking their teams to a mall the day before every game including the home ones.

The Mall of America is immense. I can’t think of any other word to describe it. It just goes up and on into forever. To what must surely be a relief to a lot of parents, most of the girls forewent the stores and spent their day on the amusement park rides. $32 for that all-day pass is a bargain considering the alternative. I was particularly pleased at the wealth of monkey spotting opportunities the mall offered. You can check out the pics on the Things My Phone Saw page.

Steve, Jon and I found two stores that piqued our interest. The first was a game shop for the intellectually ambitious called Marbles – The Brain Store. There was a wide selection of logic games and skill games and so forth and we were quickly approached by a salesman who was pushing the featured game – a hybrid of checkers played on a small round board with miniaturized, wooden, Incan totems. Okay, that’s not exactly right, but it’s as close as I can get to explaining a game I made no attempt to understand. So the salesman asks if any of us want to play and Steve jumps at the chance. Offhandedly I remarked, “I’ve got five dollars on Rainman.” And I could see that salesman get just a little bit smug about my confidence in Steve.

Ten minutes later the salesman was gracious yet clearly humbled in defeat. You could see the loss had him rattled. Later we were telling Steve that the poor guy is probably ruined for that job now. I mean think about it… he plays that game every single day and probably wins every single time he plays. It’s his thing, right? For all we know that game is all he has going for him. Then in walks this yahoo from Georgia who has never even seen the game before and WHAM! – winner, winner chicken dinner – slapped around on your home turf. That’s just ouch. That poor fella probably went home that night questioning his entire existence, wondering where it all went wrong.

After Marbles we ducked into a magic store and caught a super sleight of hand performer who had the three of us stumped with his card tricks and powers of levitation. Plus he did that thing with the little red foam balls and if that doesn’t make you happy, nothing will. But I was most impressed with the store’s sales approach: if you buy one of the tricks from the show, the guy will take you into a private room and teach you how to perform the trick in five minutes. I mean that’s just genius. It’s the puppy-dog approach to magic and ironically, it made some of our money disappear. Money well spent I say!

But into each life some rain must fall and the lowlight of our mall excursion was seeing Chewy pushing Torri around in a wheelchair. That was all the crystal ball we needed to know that Torri wasn’t going to be available for Sunday’s tilt with Iowa State.

Torri and Chewy have one of my favorite relationships on the team. They play next to each other on our back line and last year they developed a tremendous bond. They can keep each other laughing for hours which inspired Steve to nickname them “The two old guys from the Muppet Show.” They just zing one-liners in observation of everyone and everything. The only difference is that they don’t need anyone else to hear them. They are content to exist in their own little cocoon observing the world at-large. For example, a few weeks ago we were rehearsing attacking corner kicks and there wasn’t much for Chewy and Torri to do but stand about 35 yards from the goal and kill time amusing one another. So as they were quietly providing a running commentary, Lex was busy having an absolute nightmare as the ball-server. After she curled three out-of-bounds in succession, Steve yanked her from the job. As Lex dejectedly made her way into the 18, Torri and Chewy went to work…

Chewy: Wow… Lex got fired.

Torri: Gettin’ the hook.

Chewy: Walk. Of. Shame.

It was thoroughly hilarious and a perfectly reasonable justification for Steve’s Muppet reference. Telling the story now makes me wish I could have bugged that wheelchair. I would love to hear what a day at the mall sounds like with those two.

We capped off the day with a team dinner at a sports lounge that gave us a private room with a giant television to watch the Georgia / Boise State football game. Our arrival was a major pick-me-up for the lone (and very surprised) UGA fan seated at the mostly empty bar wearing a Georgia football jersey. When 30 Bulldogs paraded into that establishment, he was downright giddy to suddenly become part of the ruling party. Okay, so the game didn’t go as well as we had hoped but it was still cool just to be a part of it. I don’t know that I’ll ever get over that part of coaching at a “major”… getting to watch your school play on national TV. It never gets old. There just wasn’t a lot of that in the NAIA. Actually, there wasn’t any of it. It’s just genuinely uplifting to have something like that to rally around. There really is no substitute for school spirit.

Saturday was a great day but not really because of the mall and not just because Jon had recovered. Saturday was great because of the Friday night that bled into it. The team was still basking in the afterglow of our overtime win and excited about what this season still held in store for us. A day of just being teammates on a road trip was good for the soul. But there was still that matter about Sunday’s game.

When we spoke to the team after the Minnesota match, we talked about the opportunity we had to get a sweep on the road and how all the good work that we had done on Friday could be quickly undone if we tanked in the weekend finale against Iowa State. We could feel good about half the job, but it was important to remember that we had only done half the job. We needed to leave town with a pair of wins, not just one of them.

After playing on UM’s field I had a new respect for Iowa State. The Cyclones were obviously going to be faster and more athletic than I originally perceived. And they were going to work hard to boot. We were in for another grinder.

Sunday’s match was not a pretty one. Most Sunday matches aren’t. They’re played on heavy legs in warmer weather in front of smaller crowds with little fanfare. This was a neutral site fixture with a 10:30 A.M. kick-off, further dimming the atmosphere. All that remained was two tired teams trying to win a game.

We had a pretty comfortable start to the first half. We enjoyed a little more time on the ball and found there were moments where we could actually string some passes together. In the 18thminute Iowa State cleared one of our corner kicks but the clearance fell to Chewy who dumped the ball along to Sooz on the left side. Sooz shook a defender then hooked a perfectly weighted pass in behind the Cyclone defenders and into the stride of Bailey Powell who one-timed her chance past the goalkeeper to stake us to a 1-0 lead. Because of her height, we bring Bay forward on most corner kicks. Because she’s a defender, she’s going to milk those moments for all they’re worth. So as Iowa State cleared our initial effort, Bay loitered near the edge of the eighteen just in case something materialized. Fortunately something did and she was in the right place at the right time. The supermarket boy would have been very proud.

Iowa State nearly drew level ten minutes later but Ashley Baker’s acrobatic save from point-blank range kept us in front and we kept the lead into the half.

As we were discussing our halftime adjustments, we became painfully aware of the acoustics of Minnesota’s locker room situation. As Steve was talking to our team, through the ceiling vent I could hear the talk coming from the Cyclone locker room. We couldn’t actually make out the words, but it was clear Iowa State’s adjustments were going to be more emotional than tactical. They were getting an earful. Apparently they needed a wake-up call and man did they ever respond. Momentum had already swung in Iowa State’s direction in the latter part of the first half and there was no sign of that changing in the first ten minutes of the second stanza.

They came out with renewed urgency and we were struggling to hold things together. But our backs stood strong in front of Baker and Jenna Buckley was having a command performance as a starter in the center of our defense. Our forwards were struggling to hold the ball and that kept us under stretches of relentless pressure.

I don’t remember what happened exactly, but I remember there were just over thirteen minutes left on the clock and I said to Jon that Iowa State may have run out of gas. It looked like they, all at once, had hit the wall. And I couldn’t have been happier about that.

Four minutes later Lex pushed a ball in behind the Iowa State defense that served as a starting gun for a three-way race between Ashley Miller, the Cyclone net-minder and a Cyclone center back. All parties involved were going to intersect near the top right corner of the Iowa State eighteen. Miller got there just in time to get a toe to the ball while miraculously avoiding the collision that left the goalkeeper and her teammate in a heap. Miller, the only one left standing, calmly surveyed the situation then used the outside of her right foot to pass the ball into the unguarded net. Game, set and match.

This is how you know your team is tired… Miller scored the tournament-clinching goal and didn’t even move to celebrate. Didn’t even raise an arm. Her teammates didn’t mob her in so much as they slowly ambled towards her like old ladies filing into the salon. Some never even made it all the way to Miller, preferring to stop five or ten yards short and save their energy. It looked like Mills had done nothing more consequential than check out a library book. The goal sealed a rare and precious away sweep and a tired group of Bulldogs were ready to make tracks for Athens.

On the flight home Robin sat surrounded by the band members of Georgia Satellite (I got a little change in my pocket goin’ jing-a-ling-a-ling). We were amazed that they didn’t recognize her.

As for me, I spent some time on that flight reflecting on the weekend’s matches and occasionally wondering if somewhere in Minneapolis a disheartened young man was shaking his head in disgust and muttering, “Flu shots? You asked her for a freaking flu shot?”

Bulldogs are at home this weekend. Mercer on Friday night, Georgia State on Sunday.

Go Dawgs!