Sometimes in the Fall

Halftime talk at MU

Today is Mike’s last day working at Auction Hunters. Tomorrow they leave for a stint in Hawaii. Mike is obviously bummed they didn’t invite him along, but hopeful they will bring him on again when they come back in a couple weeks. Back to his internship with Zig, in the meantime. He’s becoming quite the little protege.

Tropez keeps saying he’s going to bring over his TV stand, but he seems to be all talk. I text him a few days ago and got no response, so the next day I text him again. If you don’t come over today I want a major discount. Nothing. Two days later we work together, and I decide to not talk to him. He comes in all friendly saying hello. I don’t look at him as I continue cutting fruit. “Hello mademoiselle?” I’m not talking to you. “No? Why not?” You ignore me, I ignore you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to act mad but I can’t stop smiling. You don’t know? I tell him he never text me back. He assures me he did. He walks away as Magali asks me what is going on. Tropez walks back amidst this, proving that he did, in fact, text me. He shows me his phone while covering the time. Such a freak.

I decide to utilize Craigslist. I never have before, so I’m a little wary, but why not try it out? I’ve been searching for high schools or colleges in the area that have field hockey programs so I could coach, and I’ve been searching for leagues where I can play. Nothing. It really sucks. I’ve in some way been involved with field hockey every Fall since I was in the sixth grade. After college I volunteered at West Deptford for two years and played in a Sunday league with Sarah. The first day of preseason I asked Ms. Decker – who was my coach when I was in high school – where she wanted me; with freshmen, JV, or Varsity. She said wherever I want. I immediately went over to the freshmen. I was just out of college and a lot of the Varsity players knew me so I felt like they might not want to listen to me, or maybe they wouldn’t respect me as much. I had plenty to teach the freshmen. After a half hour with them I was back on the Varsity side. Ms. Decker and Stu (the assistant Varsity coach) looked at me curiously. I was shaking my head. Nope. I can’t be over there. They were both smiling. “No? Why not?” Because I’m going to kill them. I had zero patience for the freshmen. I stuck with Varsity and realized, after four years playing in college, there’s so much you can bring to a high school squad. The next two years I was the assistant Varsity coach at the Spence School in Manhattan, and last year I had the awesome privilege to be a first time head coach. But that’s a story for another time.

High school with Cavich, Meg McWain, and Phelps

It’s not August yet, but I fear that when it comes, I’ll be scrambling around, itching for field hockey with no where to coach or play. I try to take it into my own hands and post an ad for private coaching. I have two sticks, a couple of balls and no field, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. I post a short ad about myself with little hope of a response, and a couple days later actually get one! It’s vague, but the dad of a 14-year-old girl wants me to teach his daughter three days a week while he’s doing business in the United States for the month of March. Awesome! I email him back asking for information about his daughter: her level of play (for planning purposes) and how tall she is (I might have to buy another stick if she’s not close to my height).

I text Tropez because he knows the area well. Hey are there any turf or grass fields around that are free to the public? “I see, when you need me you talk to me (sunglasses face) lol.” Merde.


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