As I write this, I am in a little bit of pain, particularly my groin and my nose. 

How this happened and why it happened is part of the story of my participation in the University of Massachusetts Soccer Alumni Game in September.

You may ask if I was the oldest player in the game and I’d answer in the affirmative, but please hold the rest of your questions for later, including the question that seeks the answer of why I was playing in a soccer game with skilled players, 30, 40, and 50 years younger than me?

I’ll explain but first let’s go back to the beginning.

In my final year at East Braintree Junior High, I tried out for the soccer team, I’m not sure why, but I made it. 

I had never played soccer: in those days there weren’t any youth leagues or organized activities around the sport in my community. Soccer might have been taught/played in Physical Education classes; it is fuzzy to me. 

I probably tried out because a couple of classmates played and probably invited me. I don’t remember exactly why soccer and me connected, and I don’t remember much about the season. I have no idea if we were good or bad, or if I was good or bad. I made the team and that’s all that matters.

As a Sophomore at Braintree High School the next year, I did not try out, again, not sure why or why not. As a Junior, I also did not try out, but then as a Senior, I decided to give it a go. My three best friends were on the team, as well as a couple of guys I played hockey with, and I think they encouraged me. 

To the surprise of some, but not all, I made the team and was thrilled to be hanging with the guys for the fall. And by the way, the team was one of the top teams in the league and maybe even the state with Don Carson as the legendary coach.

How good was the team? Several players received college scholarships is the first evidence I cite. But our record is perhaps the most powerful validation of the team. 

Playing in the tough Bay State League, our record was 14-2. Fourteen wins and two losses. Both of our losses were to Needham High, and both were by 1-0 margins.  Needham went on to be the State Champion that year, and we didn’t even make the tournament. Only the league champion advanced.

I didn’t start, but I played a lot as a substitute off the bench. With some validation of my skill level, after being accepted to UMass, I decided that maybe I should try out for the soccer team when I started college.

A former Braintree High soccer player was already playing there, and the Braintree program had some credibility. Coach Carson wrote a recommendation for me to the Umass Coach. All I had to do was wait for the first day of tryouts for the freshman team, and my college athletic career would start. Except, I flunked the physical.

Because of the limited vision in my right eye, the doctor said I could not play any contact sports. When I argued that I had been playing hockey and soccer in high school and I wouldn’t hurt myself, he indicated he was worried about me hurting others. After some discussion and intervention from somewhere, I’m not sure where, he let me through but indicated that I could not play hockey.

I had turned down a hockey scholarship from one of the state colleges, a Division 3 School, and might have had ambitions to play at UMass, but that conditional dream was over.

So, the first day of practice, it will surprise no one who knows me personally, I was the first one there, soon followed by about 84 others.

That’s correct, 85 kids were going to try out for the freshman soccer team. (NCAA Note: when I was in school, freshman were NOT allowed to play varsity sports, who knows why?)

The coach looked a little baffled about what to do but eventually told us to run two laps around the athletic fields. Easy start, right? Not exactly. Each lap was, gulp, more than a mile. Most of the kids hadn’t bargained for this, after all, they wanted to ‘play soccer’ not ‘run cross country.’

On day 2, only 25 kids showed up, and that became our freshman team. A very simple solution.

We had our first game at home in early October against Tufts University. I had been selected as one of the co-captains of the team and went out to take the coin toss with the Tufts co-captains. That included one of my friends Jackie Foster, from Braintree High School. It was a cool moment and you can read that story here.

I don’t remember how that team did or what we did. What I do remember is that when the freshman season was over, two members of the freshmen team were invited to practice with the Varsity, but not eligible to play in games. I was one of the two kids, and that is my first memory of being ‘thrilled’ at something that happened on a soccer pitch (field).

As a sophomore I was a regular on the team, played a lot of minutes, and started for most of the season. I wasn’t the best sophomore, but I also could run, tackle and pass with either foot, so I was a key part of the team. Coach Peter Broaca was also the Assistant Basketball Coach and actually didn’t know much about soccer except what he read in a book. Some of our drills and defensive strategies were basketball stuff, but on grass.

At Spring practice the next year, before my Junior year, the coach called the team together on the field after a session and announced that he was leaving to become the athletic director of the Coast Guard Academy in Connecticut. The star of the UMass Basketball Team, Julius Erving, also known as Dr. J, had left school early and signed a professional contract. Coach told us that the time for him to leave would never be better because the basketball program had likely peaked and wished us luck.

The next year we had an idiot graduate student for a coach. Then as a senior we had an Englishman who knew what he was doing. In fact, after leaving UMass, I was told he went to a university in Edmonton and won two Canadian Championships.

Three coaches in three years is not good for any team in any sport, and we suffered a bit. 

The high mark took place one year when we were in the top 20 nationally, and for most of the year we shared the top four with Harvard, Brown, and some other schools. In those days tournaments were much smaller. For example, the NCAA basketball tournament had 16 teams, not 64. Soccer had four teams from New England, and we just missed out.

That was my soccer career. I never picked up or kicked a ball again. Never played in an adult league or summer league and rarely watched it on TV. 

About a dozen years ago, the UMass Soccer team made the NCAA tournament, and I went to a game at the school, which was pretty cool. I saw the facilities had been significantly upgraded since I was there, with a closed game field and a practice field and other amenities.

Last year, the team advanced to the Final Four, and I watched them on TV through to the end. Last summer, the father of one of the students I mentored in Phi Sigma Kappa shared with me that he was a soccer player at UMass, and one thing led to another and so I attended the Alumni Weekend in 2024. Nice networking reception on Friday night, then an Alumni Game on Saturday morning, and then a UMass game on Saturday afternoon.

Then earlier this year, I was a guest at a Mentoring Night for the team, shared my perspective on life after college, and gave everyone one of my books. I guess I was now an ‘active’ alumni member?

So, I did what anyone would do who was an active alumni member: I signed up to play in the Alumni Game on a Saturday morning. I went out and bought soccer cleats, borrowed a ball from my brother, and had my son help me by throwing the ball to me and at me one day.

Of course I hurt myself while practicing. What did you expect. My right groin was slightly pulled on my last kick, but I knew I had a week to recover.

On the designated Saturday, I showed up, the first one there. Dribbled and kicked a ball around for a while by myself, did some passing with another guy from the 70’s, younger than me, but not by much.

When sides were drawn up, one of us old guys was designated for each team. No, it was not ‘shirts’ and ‘skins’ like the old days. There were blue pull over vests the other team wore.

I planted myself at right fullback, hoping that there wasn’t too much action. I stopped a couple of passes, played good positional defense, and then one of my teammates passed it to me and I did the ‘let it go through your legs’ fake and spun around to follow the ball. Except, I tripped on my own feet and did a face plant in the grass, my first face plant of the day.

About ten minutes later, this guy on the other team got a pass about ten yards in front of me and wound up to blast a shot at the goal. It did not go in because it hit me square in the face, lifted me off the ground and spun me around, and I did my second face plant of the day.

In the 'abundance of caution' mode, I came out of the game, with everyone asking me if I was ok. I indicated I was, except my entire face was numb. There was a young mom there with a couple of kids and she gave me some baby wipes, and the bleeding stopped after about ten minutes. 

I then did what anyone in my position would do. I went back into the game. That line between bravery and stupidity was very blurred, but I knew I could do it and wanted the guys to know that I was tough, or stupid.

When the game ended, we all posed for a photo on the field. My nose was still a little numb (it would take almost two weeks to return to normal). But I stood there in a remote soccer field on the edge of campus with two dozen guys who had something in common: we had all worn the maroon and white of the Umass Minuteman and represented our school.

As I walked back to my car I was grateful for four things:

1.     I was grateful that I could walk back to my car.

2.     I was grateful that I would not need to schedule knee surgery for the next week.

3.     I was grateful that at 74 years old I had the chutzpah to play in this game.

4.     I was grateful that I still have the drive to walk the line between bravery and stupidity, and so far, so good.

Next year? We'll see. I kick because I can.