My father developed an unrealistic expectation when I was very young that I would be a sports star. He thought if I started playing soccer at an early age I would develop the coordination and an understanding of team comradery to succeed in other sports. I will admit his enthusiasm was infectious. The morning of my first game it was difficult to tell who was more excited, my father or me. My father shared he had stayed up and created a playlist for the car ride to get me even more pumped up. I was skeptical the playlist wouldn’t be any good; using history as a guide, the playlist was likely going to be full of late 1990s Garth Brooks’ hits that just wouldn’t light a fire in my belly to dominate the soccer field. When we got into the car, I was presently surprised that my father created a playlist that actually had “new” songs. My adrenaline elevated when the song, All I Do Is Winby DJ Khalid, came on. Chanting the hook, “All I do is win, win, win and I put my hands up, and they stay there and they stay there,” who couldn’t get pumped up? I asked my father to roll down my window so the music could blast out and everyone could see how cool we were. We received many idiosyncratic looks as we slowly rolled by the soccer field to park the car. I felt invincible stepping out the car; I could have run through a wall; I was ready to subjugate the competition.
When the game finally began I was running all over the field pursing the soccer ball. After the first quarter I was drained. I had put in the effort but had little interest in continuing to play. My father encouraged me to stay strong and keep playing; the game was only a half hour. I begrudgingly agreed and tried to push forward in the second quarter. However I quickly realized that chasing after the ball was not really a fun activity; and after coming to this realization I gave zero effort. My father was on the sidelines trying to motivate me but I just ignored him and wandered aimlessly throughout the soccer field. When I looked over to the sidelines again my father was struggling to contain his emotions. He was twisting and turning in place and clinching his hands; it appeared he was talking to himself. He was acting as if he had wagered my entire college fund on the outcome of the soccer game.
When halftime arrived he pleaded with me to try harder. I thought, “Why do you care so much? I understand you want to live vicariously through me but you need to taper your expectations.” I was noncommittal about finishing the game with an enthusiastic attitude. My father was completely discouraged, “I will take you to McDonald’s if you try harder”, my father said. I realized that my father only negotiated when he was desperate, so I needed to capitalize on this opportunity. I countered, “McDonald’s, ice cream and a movie.” My father closed his eyes and cringed as he contemplated my offer. I thought, “He must really want this to work out. This could be a goldmine.” With seconds before the beginning of the second half, my father offered McDonald’s with a McFlurry. This was a more generous offer than I was expecting so I made the deal. I will admit, I did not want be on the soccer field but the thought of a McDonald’s McFlurry kept me going.
Then I received a lucky break. A kid on the other team missed kicking a pass and the ball continued to roll toward my goal. I rushed past the kid, got the ball and scored a goal. (It helped no goalies were allowed.) My dad went nuts; he jumped up and down as if I had scored a World Cup goal screaming, “That is my boy.” The other parents cheered too; their cheers boosted my self-confidence. My father’s praise was nice but the accolades from the others were exhilarating. After the next kickoff I was a kid possessed. I chased down each ball and bulldoze anyone who tried to stand in my way of scoring more goals. Soon enough the goal tally increased from 1 to 2. As expected, the parents’ cheering continued. To celebrate I dashed over to the sideline and started high fiving all the parents. My father had to pull me back on the field from “my fans” and instruct me to keep playing.
As time was winding down in the 4thquarter, I was trying hard to score another goal to put me at the top of the scoring list. An opportunity presented itself when an opposing player stopped right in front of my goal. I charged at the kid and tried to take the ball but wasn’t successful. I then tried to bulldoze the kid over but that failed too. The crowd started counting down the final seconds of the game. A trigger went off in my head, and I went full professional wrestler by tackling the kid and the ball into the goal. I rose from the ground expecting loud cheers as I had just scored the last goal but it was radio silence. My father pulled me aside and said, “Overall good game. One serious item of discussion. You cannot tackle another player.” I replied, “No one ever told me you couldn’t tackle anyone; and you always tell me to be hard-charger.” “We were not withholding information from you. I should have done a better job explaining the rules,” my father commented.
We then lined up to shake the other team’s hands, and the kid who I tackled refused to shake my hand. The kid’s poor sportsmanship was unacceptable. So, I engaged the kid and demanded a handshake. “Be a big-boy and shake my hand”, I declared. As we stood nose-to-nose, the tension could have been cut with a knife before our parents came and separated us apart. As we walked back to the car I nudged my father and inquired about McDonald’s. “It is a no-go today, due to lack of sportsmanship,” He said. My mind nearly exploded, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Well if this wasn’t the biggest bait-and-switch of all-time.” To defend my position, I stated “As a reminder, the other kids refused to shake my hand. That was the true poor sportsmanship. Also, you must recall that I scored not 1, not 2, but 3 goals today.” I was not going to let the promise of McDonald’s go easily, so I pushed further. My father told me that the kid I choose to have a standoff with was the commissioner’s son and that I was not going to do my self any favors by making enemies with the family that runs the operation. This was a classic overreaction by my father. I quickly clarified a few things. “That was my first game. I did not know all the rules, plus you have always said go “full-throttle” when challenged. I just put those words into action. Last, how was I supposed to know the kid was part of the “soccer mafia family?” For these reasons, I think you should reconsider your positon.” My father struggled with a response, as all my counterpoints had merit. “I understand your position, but we will have to go another day when we do not have multiple altercations.”
I felt like my hand was forced at that point and I needed a powerful response. “Dad, I am not sure if soccer or any sport is for me.” It was taking a big gamble. Was my dad willing to give up his dream to prove a point based on a principle I had previously never been exposed to before? After a moment of silence my dad turned and smirked at me. “I will honor the McDonald’s commitment, during which time I will explain the rules of soccer thoroughly and highlight the important of sportsmanship.” It was the first time I had matched wits with my father and came out victorious. “Do I taunt him or celebrate independently,” was my initial thought, as I explored many different emotions. I thought an inclusive approach would produce the most benefit, as my father seemed a little ornery after I held him over a barrel. So I said something I instantly regretted, “And I will pay from the money from piggybank.” My father quickly capitalized. “Deal”, he said. All the good feelings I had developed vanished. It was in that moment that I vowed I would never volunteer information in a negotiation again nor negotiate with myself. It was a tough lesson to learn at five years old. However, if my professional sports career does materialize, I will be well positioned to get a blockbuster deal and if not, at least obtain a C-Suite office after taking my negotiating lumps at early age. The future looks so bright.