Soccer practice in modern times.

Tonight at the end of practice, one of my teammates said, in a helpful way, "you have a cloud of mosquitos flying around your head".    And he was right.  I did.   It's the beginning of September and we're swarmed by skeeters who are voracious and go for the eyes.  Never had this experience before.  But 'the game' requires sacrifice, blood sacrifice I guess. 
The FC77 crew has had a Wednesday night practice since sometime in the misty years of the 80s. For a long long time we practiced under the tennis court lights at Colonel Sumner Park on SE 20th and Belmont.  I remember being there when there was snow falling steadily and the boys were arguing about how much snow it would take to have to quit and go home.   We were practicing the night of the famous plane crash in far southeast Portland.  The odd thing is that the crash was on a Thursday night and not the night we normally practiced.  It was three days after Christmas and so it would have been possible we moved that night to Thursday because of holiday obligations.   I remember seeing the plane circling around in the East and then going very very low.   We didn't realize that it had crashed right then.  But we all were convinced something bad had happened out east.
Wednesday night practice moved from Colonel Sumner when the Big Dig started. One of the portals to the new stormwater and sewer retention system was in the middle of the field we used.   Even after the crews 'cleaned up' there were ankle breaking ruts in the surrounding ground. 
So we found Kenilworth Park after some searching.   And as the years have passed, that practice has become an anchor.   While it started with FC77 players and friends, in recent years we've had kids from Cuba,  kids from Romania, Tibetans and Southeast Asians,  odds and ends of players from the surrounding neighborhoods, and the core of old guys from the club.   
Soccer practice is actually one of the unspoken rewards of the game.   Guys and some girls who love to play, not necessarily speaking each others' languages, pull on their boots and side up 'dark or white' to knock the ball around together.   There is laughter.  There is trash talk.  There is good play and bad play,  but the ultimate reality is that the game we all love becomes the language we speak.
Practice is not just about game.  Practice is about being part of the incredible human race.