It’s raining again today. Not too sad about it, really. It’s a nice change of pace from the stifling 85 degree weather of last week. Plus, I’m stuck inside at work anyhow.
As I was driving into work I passed by a couple road construction workers, a guy and a girl, who didn’t seem at all concerned about the rain. That illustrates an idea that I hadn’t given much thought to before, but makes a lot of sense now that I do.
For me, at least, my reaction to getting caught in the rain depends on the situation. I mean, if I got caught in a downpour without my umbrella on my walk into work, I’m pretty sure it would ruin my day. Sitting at my desk as my clothes and hair slowly air dry does not seem appealing at all.
Other times, being in the rain is not bad at all. My mind drifts back in my memory to my days playing soccer. This particular memory is from when I was in my early twenties, playing in an adult league. The game was in DuBois, PA, a town most would probably consider small, but is like a city compared to my hometown. It rained most of the day, but as long as it wasn’t thundering, the game would go on.
The field (the pitch for all you purists) was completely soaked. Not only was it soaked, but there were puddles everywhere. We’re talking Central Pennsylvania here, a place where soccer doesn’t have the highest regard. It isn’t football after all. None of the fields we played on were level, or without dips, or even well groomed.
Anyhow, play was rough that day. You’d attempt to dribble the ball and all of a sudden you would hit a puddle and the ball would just stop. It was like playing against an invisible 12th opponent. And your feet would get waterlogged, as your socks and shoes would retain water. I was having fun, though, because I was playing soccer. I would go back to that field at that particular time in a heartbeat if I could.
Without any real way to control the ball, skill was eliminated from the game. It was pretty clear that whoever was able to score a goal was most likely to win the game. And so it was, late in the game, the ball sitting on a puddle in front of the goal in a puddle, like a huge golf ball on a tee. Being in the right place at the right time, I ran up to the ball and without falling on my backside, I kicked it into the net.
That wound up being the deciding score indeed. The 40 minute car ride home (I was still in college at the time living at home in the summers), sitting on trash bags placed over the car seats by my parents, was no doubt a happy one as we had squeaked out a win. It was one of those times that the rain didn’t bother me a bit. Although, now that I think about it, those brave souls that came out to watch the game in the rain might very well have had a different experience.