By: Kate Gruetter

Editor-in-Chief

Coaching for Los Gatos United Soccer Club has to have been one of my most formative experiences. Introduced to this slightly cultish job by former chief and El Gatan Brynn Gibson, I expected a fun, fairly easy going summer occupation. Instead, I am now traumatized for life. Don’t get me wrong — I’ve met some incredible people through coaching, I make 25 dollars an hour (soon to be 30), and I wrote a college essay (arguably my best) about the insanity I have endured at the hands of five and six year olds. But, still, some of the memories I have made coaching are ones I would rather forget, if given the chance. 

I would definitely love to go back and not relive every single time a kid has puked on me. Especially the (trigger warning here) time a kid vomited white goo onto my shoes. This cookie tosser was vomiting what looked like scrambled egg yolks right onto my BLACK Nike sneakers. Thanks kid. 

I would also like to forget every single time I have seen parents get a little too comfortable on the sidelines. You do not need to be grabbing each other, swaying, and exchanging spit next to a 4v4 youth scrimmage. 

Adding on to my parental criticism, I would love to never relive parents trying to persuade me to give out yellow and red cards to children who think “poop” is a swear word. I am sorry Jessica, but seven year olds do run into each other sometimes, there is no foul play and they’re not pushing any mysterious agenda. I’m also a coach, which means when I step on Fisher field at nine in the morning I only carry a whistle, soccer balls, and a few stray cones; they don’t trust me with the hardcore stuff like red/yellow cards, a badge, or a scoresheet.

However, one thing I never want to forget is the characters I have met along the way. The kid who I believe to be Messi reincarnated, his dad who looks like he literally runs the Los Gatos mafia and wears sunglasses in the most mysterious and suspect way possible. The fellow coach who goes by the title “Gummy” and sports a bleach blond mullet and constant farmer’s burn. All of the various children who wear glasses and act like full grown adults: pointer finger to the sky and everything. 

Despite all of my complaining, I do truly love my job, though sometimes I wish parts of it were not so normalized.