Where magic shoes come from

A young athlete who lives under my roof has mentioned that he had been thinking of going out for a jog on a couple recent days. It would be great if he went, he’s a natural athlete who is held back a little by relying on organized sports too much for his practice and development. The only tennis shoes he has are Vans, not suitable for running, really, and I am tempted to buy him some proper trainers. I know better.

It all becomes clear as I look at a signed soccer ball on my shelf and think about how different youth is for this current generation. It’s all organized.

My youth soccer coaching was quite organized despite any complaints to the contrary. I had a roster of kids with phone numbers and other vital information, and I communicated expectations, required equipment, practice schedules and philosophy; we even had pre-season meetings. So I was always a bit bemused when the kids would come to practice without the requisite soccer ball discussed ad nauseum.

In our league every player was required to buy and bring their own soccer ball to practice, but we had parents who could not figure out how to get one, or simply didn’t bother to. Still all the players I coached, except one, did manage to show up in cleats.

The “boy in sneakers” came to the practices and games, and diligently endeavored to learn the game, but there was a little bit of enthusiasm always lacking. I don’t recall him ever slipping on the grass and falling down, but I did have conversations with him about remembering to bring his cleats. Eventually it came out he did not have any. We found him a pair of my son’s old cleats and brought them to the next weekend’s game. “Magic shoes,” I told him.

Giant soccer cleats in Berlin

That game we were just a bit stronger, as this young player was playing with a fire not seen the whole season. Surely he knew the cleats had no magic of their own but with cleats on his feet for the first time his spirit was unchained, his psychological outlook entirely different, a force to be reckoned with on the field. The next practice he showed up with brand new cleats of his own and a slightly embarrassed mother.

The “boy in sneakers” was a force for the remainder of the season and became known as Magic Shoes. He signed the end of the year coaches present, a soccer ball, with that nick name. It’s a fond memory.

You might feel sorry for him, but he was lucky.

All the fourteen other kids on the team had cleats equal to his, and they had them all season. They wore them to the field, tossed them in the closet, maybe left them in the car, dirty, week after week. Not one of those other boys had Magic Shoes, though, in fact they could hardly see their cleats at all. Their cleats has disappeared into the mist of all the things we take for granted.

The “boy in sneakers” would have been just the same if he’d been equally equipped, deprived of the magic. On some level I suspect a little of that appreciation for what a proper set of cleats mean, and a little of the magic, has stayed with him over the years since, ingrained in him as a source of psychological power.

More than just shoes: tools of passion, fun, action

When organized sports require the parents to provide everything up front, there is a risk that objects of passion like balls and shoes are taken for granted, like socks. It doesn’t take cleats to play soccer, but playing soccer can bring one to be passionate about their cleats.

Competitive athletes, even young ones, get to know their tools, and there is no tool more powerful than their passion. We can’t buy it for them, or otherwise put it in their gear bag. Try to give a young athlete passion, and you may kill the inner fire they were stoking silently on their own.

Let that fire build on its own, and later a simple pair of shoes may fan the flames.

My young athlete sitting at home won’t be helped by someone taking him out to buy a set of running shoes until he has built the fire within to forge something greater than nylon and rubber out of them. I would say he “should” go running, but there is no should in desire.

If and when a young man or woman finds fire in their belly, all things are possible, but nothing great is possible before then.