Friday night, no lights

So we finally got it together enough to remember water for Samson [all that running away from the ball makes him thirsty] and a camera. Friday night's game against Purple was a near repeat of last week's game against Red.

I'm pretty sure that someone somewhere is manufacturing fake 5-year-old IDs, because some of the kids on the opposing team were far too coordinated to be only 5. And a few were almost twice as tall as Samson.

Which is, of course, the trouble with a 4/5 league, where you have Samson, who just turned four up against kids who might be 5 and ready to turn 6 some time later this fall. The difference a year makes at this age is almost impossible to overstate.

Not to worry. With the exception of a particularly aggressive child, who, as best as I can tell, was trash-talking Samson [I got the 50-yards-away silent film version wherein I saw a small, angry-looking boy jawing at Samson and a quizzical expression on Sam's face as he backed away slowly], Samson had a blast. Even when he and a teammate collided and he came off the field for a few moments, he wanted to get right back in there.



Injury shminjury: In no time he was downfield near the Purple goal [the ball, meanwhile was near our goal] and running his heart out toward us and yelling: "Daddy, look over there. It's the MOON!"

And indeed, there behind us, all but invisible to nearly everyone on the field and all the people watching the game, was a beautiful crescent moon, just inching above the treeline against a blue shading into violet sky.

I sure do love that child.