Rangers At The Far Post

Rocky Mountain High

2008-07-20T16:36:00.000-07:00

by David G. Woolley
The 91 Rangers Premier team is on a Rocky Mountain High this week after winning the Pike's Peak invitational in Colorado and bringing home the first club trophy from that event. Two hours later the 93 Rangers Premier fell a goal short of a second championship, losing 2-1 to Colorado's Pride Predators. Both teams deserve some serious credit for a job well done.

Colorado is beautiful country. Its also high altitude territory. Denver, the mile high city, is the low point in a state that sports some serious Everest elevations. Just ask the 93 team from Minnesota. They were on oxygen by mid week. The Associated Press reported this week that Colorado has the lowest percentage of obesity in the nation. Nineteen percent. Which has a lot to do with the gutsy play of our 91 and 93 teams. The reporter quoted health professionals saying one reason may be the high altitude. It takes a lot more to get up and down the stairs in Colorado. It also takes a lot more to get up and down a soccer field. Our hotel rooms were at lobby level thanks to our team administrators, Susan Wilson and Nina Bingham, who were one step ahead of the competition. They win the Pike's Peak best administrator trophy. The other teams took the elevator.

John Denver, the 80's pop icon, sorta country western, guitar slinging, outdoorsy, blond headed Colorado poster child got it all going with his Rocky Mountain High. He was right. Even the recipe people are cashing in on the altitude. Patricia Kendall, Editor at the Colorado State University Cooperative Extension Program has a new book out. High Altitude Baking.The only cooking we saw was Edgar Caldera going to goal on a sprained ankle. You gotta love his passion. He only winced once. And if not for the bad ankle his open goal chance doesn't get cleared off the opponent's goal line.

The Associated Press also reported that Coloradoans are exercise enthusiasts. And they do it all above five thousand feet. High altitude skiing. High altitude hiking. High altitude camping. High altitude ski diving. No kidding. We saw a billboard ad along I-70 near Aspen. Its reportedly much safer than, say, low altitude sky diving. There's also high altitude hang gliding, high altitude golfing, and my favorite: high altitude scuba diving. I don't get that one.

We did some high altitude soccer this week at the base of Pike's Peak. Nearly seven thousands feet above sea level. No oxygen tanks. No blood doping. No legs. All that running around at high elevation didn't seem to phase any of the Colorado players. We were light headed the first day and dizzier the second. Lucky for us on the third day the 93 premier team played the Minnesota state champions. The people in that state are resilient. You have to be tough to get through the cold winter months between September 1st and May 31st. The match should have been a battle. Poor flat-landers. The Minnesota boys could hardly move after three days without oxygen. Lucky for them the referee blew the whistle and ended their suffocating loss. Rangers 5. Minnesota 1.

Well done boys.
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Join author David G. Woolley at his Top of the Morning Blog or his Promised Land Website. He is also a weekly contributor to the Latter Day Authors blog.

Soccer Dads

2008-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

by David G. Woolley

If you've been keeping up on local Utah politics you've noticed a little tussle going on in the republican ranks. Upstart Jason Chaffetz is in a statistical dead heat with Congressman Chris Cannon going into this month's run off for the US House of Representatives republican primary nomination. Chaffetz has positioned himself as the more conservative of the two while Cannon points to his experience. They're both very competitive and they know their stuff. What they don't know is that their sons, Matt and Max, are both Rangers.

I've seen the two soccer dads at games. Chris always wears a pair of blue jeans and an open collar shirt. For Jason its slacks and sometimes a coat, no tie. Chris paces a lot. He stands right on the edge of the action. Jason brings a lawn chair and kicks back. If Chris says anything about the match its usually to himself. Jason cheers and jeers with the loudest of them.

With so much media attention focused on the competitiveness of the republican race, I wasn't surprised to see Jason challenge Chris to a shootout after a recent training session to decide the nomination. They asked me to referee.

Woolley: Have you ever done this before?

Chaffetz: I punted for BYU's football team.

Cannon: I kick everything.

Chaffetz: I don't like the way he said that.

Woolley: Come on guys, its just a game.

Cannon: Here, use this coin for the toss. I choose the side with the little hole cut into it.

Woolley: Chris, this a washer.

Cannon: What's wrong with that? It's always worked before.

Chaffetz: Its all about winning for him.

Woolley: Okay, Chaffetz you kick first. Chris, you're the keeper.

Cannon: I'm not keeping.

Woolley: You think that's a good idea?

Cannon: It worked on immigration reform. That's what conservatism is all about. Less governmental regulation. Just get out of the way and let things happen. It'll unnerve him.

Chaffetz: I'm the true conservative.

Cannon: No trash talking.

Chaffetz: Can I drop kick it?

Cannon: Once again, he misrepresents the issues.

Chaffetz: Do not.

Cannon: Do too.

Chaffetz: I'll buy you a #2 value meal to play keeper.

Cannon: The congressional ethics office will have a hey day with this guy.

Woolley: Boys.

Chaffetz: All right. I'll kick first.

Cannon: Inexperienced.

Chaffetz: Liberal.

Cannon: Obama lover.

They ended up tied after five shots. Chris went wide every time. Chaffetz hit the crossbar four out of five. We didn't see the fifth shot. Jason took it when we weren't looking. He swore it went through a hole in the net. We ended up letting Jason punt the ball. Chris threw it underhanded. I planned to tell you who won, but I've been sworn not to reveal the winner until after the primary. Neither candidate wanted to bias the voting. Apparently they know something about the size of the readership here at the Far Post I don't. Without giving everything away I did overhear them talking on the way to the parking lot. Chaffetz challenged Cannon to a double-or-nothing arm wrestle for the nomination. If I were Chris I'd seriously consider it. He's the strong man.

Good luck to both candidates and may the best pk shooter represent Utah in congress.

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Join author David G. Woolley at his Top of the Morning Blog or his Promised Land Website. He is also a weekly contributor to the Latter Day Authors blog.

James Sullivan

2008-06-16T11:29:00.000-07:00

by David G. Woolley

This is not a story about life in the balance or of great loss. It's a story of daily sacrifice that happens to millions of kids. Most of them give up because its not worth it. James Sullivan didn't.

I received a letter from James. He's serving as a missionary for his church. He's studying Spanish in an intensive language course before he leaves for a 22 month service stint in Uruguay. Among other things he wrote: "I am currently up to 15 goals and 21 megs. It is nice to go out and humble missionaries for the Lord during gym time." He was kidding about humbling the missionaries. He wasn't likely kidding about doing what he’s doing right now for God. He's a sincere young man.

I first met James when he attended a Rangers soccer tryout. He was twelve years old. Some of his closest friends were on the team. He didn't make it, but he was named to a select team—a second team playing in a lower division. He was okay with that for a year and he made a personal vow to improve enough over the coming 12 months the coaching staff couldn't deny him a place on the first team.

There is something humbling about not making an athletic team in plain view of your friends. That didn't bother James. It focused him. A year later, despite good recommendations from his buddies on the first team, the coaching staff denied James his dream again. There was never a word of complaint from his mother. No chest pounding from James. No telling the coaches they were clueless. James was thirteen now. Most boys would have given up, maybe gone to another team or found another sport where the embarrassment of junior high friends wasn't so raw. Not James.

Another twelve months passed and James failed again. It was a crushing blow for a fourteen year old who was a wonderful soccer player. He'd worked harder than just about any in the club. He was shaken. Was it really worth so much effort? He was denied at twelve years old, at thirteen years old, at fourteen years old and when he was rejected at fifteen years old it appeared he'd reached the end of his run. But James had resolve. No complaints. No whining. No negotiating with the coaching staff for a place on the first team. If we didn't want him, he wasn't going to beg. He returned to the second team for his fourth season.

Following the sixteen year old tryouts, I ran into James and his family at a local restaurant. The final team selections had yet to be announced. I took the chance to congratulate him and let him know that things looked very good for him this time. And could he begin making preparations to join the first team on their trip to Minnesota?

James ended up one of the finest soccer players our club has ever produced. He was instrumental in getting his new team to the state cup finals. Some things are worth waiting for. James was worth that and more. Before he left for Uruguay he reminded me of all those years we rejected his bid for the first team. I apologized. He thanked me. He’d learned to never give up. He’d learned to deal with embarrassment. He’d learned to rise above challenges with a positive attitude. He’d learned to excel despite the setbacks. Most of all, he’d learned to open his heart to others. He knew something of frustration, set back and disappointment. He felt their pain.

James Sullivan's cumulative score at the Missionary Training Center: 15 goals, 21 megs, and the might, mind, strength, patience, humility, brotherly kindness and hopeful heart of an angel.

Well done James!

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Join author David G. Woolley at his Top of the Morning Blog or his Promised Land Website. He is also a weekly contributor to the Latter Day Authors blog.

Intermittent Explosive Disorder

2008-06-05T17:30:00.001-07:00

by David G. Woolley

Kathleen Johnson is vice president at Central Bank. She was also a Ranger soccer mom. For years she faithfully supported her son and his teammates in every endeavor but one. She didn't do carpools. When there was no one else to drive the team to a tournament Kathleen handed over the keys to the family van and informed me she wasn't driving. We were in a hurry. There was an accident. I took a short cut through a gas station parking lot and she chided me because, "The hurrier you go, the behinder you get." I told her she must be a very cautious driver. That's when her 17 year old son began to laugh.

I still remember the day when a frantic player called in desperate need of a ride to a match. Kathleen tried everything.

"Have you called your dad?"

"He works nights."

"What about your older sister?"

"She's away at college in Boston."

Kathleen knew that but hey, it didn't hurt to try. She also knew the boy's older brother was in Uruguay, but she asked about him too.

"He's doing fine Mrs. Johnson. His Spanish is good. Do you have room for me?"

Of course they had room. There were usually two empty rows in the minivan, just enough room to stay out of upper cut range. There just wasn't room to explain her condition. The doctors called it intermittent explosive disorder. You know it as road rage.

Kathleen insisted all passengers buckle up. She never had to repeat herself. We were in Seattle Washington with the team one August. I drove the lead van. Kathleen was behind the wheel of van number two. A freeway construction zone came out of nowhere with a line of four foot orange cones directing traffic to merge right. I got over just in time. Kathleen took out ten cones and one of those little yellow "slow" signs before she merged. At the debriefing in the hotel parking lot she spoke in a rather somber Dr. Jekyll tone. She said, "I don't know where I got some of those words. I'm really sorry." The boys in her van didn't say anything. No one wanted to provoke her Mr. Hyde. They went to bed without questioning the curfew. If all parents had that kind of teenage control the world would be a quieter place.

It wasn't the passenger gasps that bothered Kathleen. She never noticed anything but stupid drivers. That isn't what she called them most of the time. The 65 to 95 in three seconds was an easy trick. Weaving between lanes at rush hour no problem. Calls and texting behind the wheel? Like walking in her sleep. And all of it, she claimed, was for the team.

What bothered Kathleen most were the apologies. She loathed the end of every carpool run. Until our boys were old enough to drive she required they sign an affidavit. Most of the twelve year olds didn't know they were under age. Among other things, they agreed to never repeat any of the language about stupid drivers that had no business with a license. The phrase "stupid drivers" was affidavit language for all those other words. The boys also agreed to stop clawing the leather seats.

The next time you stop by Central Bank, ask the teller if they know Kathleen. I do it all the time. They nod, but say very little.

They must be in Kathleen's carpool.

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Join author David G. Woolley at his Top of the Morning Blog or his Promised Land Website. He is also a weekly contributor to the Latter Day Authors blog.

Welcome to the Rangers

2008-03-26T10:22:00.000-07:00

With tryouts coming to an end and administrators busy registering players for the coming soccer year we want to welcome you to the Utah Rangers Soccer Club and our Far Post Blog. We hope you love the soccer and we'd like you to come back often to the far post and enjoy commentary from our coachings staff, administrators, parents and players. Thanks for joining us. We hope you have a terrific time as a Ranger.

BYU Season Tickets

2008-03-26T10:08:00.001-07:00

BYU has offered season tickets to all the players in our club for $10.00. The season begins the middle of May and ends the first of August making it essentially a summer activity. In order to qualify for the discounted rate, we need to raise the fees for each player $10.00 and then purchase a ticket for every boy. What do you think? Should we agree to this or not? Please vote in the poll at the top of the right hand side bar and if you have any comments on the issue please use the comment section of this blog and let us know how you feel. We will be making a decision before tryouts begin in May.

Vacation

2007-12-15T20:05:00.000-08:00

By Jason Patzke

Does everyone here understand the concept of the vacation? You know, it is that time of year when you escape from your life, your work, and your stress. This is a misconception that needs to be cleared up. The true definition of the term "vacation" is this: It is the time of year when one spends a whole lot more money than they ever would have considered spending had they stayed at home and went to work.

Now that we have cleared this misconception up, I have just returned from one of my company mandated week off trips into the wild blue yonder. Planning some of these trips can become an art form, and as we have previously discussed in this forum, I am a solo artist. So here is how it went: I packed, I drove to the airport, and I got out the lucky quarter. Heads: Hawaii. Tails: Tampa. One hour before departure, the coin went up, and I boarded the plane. Tampa, Florida it was. True story, by the way.

Why Tampa? To escape from my life, of course. Ha. I went all that way to watch more soccer. The Nike Friendlies are held every year and approximately thirty teams attend by invitation only in the Under 16 and Under 18 categories, as well as four youth national teams preparing for the next qualifying rounds in the Under 20 World Cup. This year saw the Under 17 National Teams from the United States, Russia, Turkey, and Brazil. It was amazing soccer, but enough of that.

We need to get back to the spending of money. There was the resort hotel on Clearwater Beach. There was the fine dining, the trip to the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino, and yes, even a country music concert. (I dressed with a fake mustache and long black wig, and I think I escaped detection from my previously mentioned concert going stalkers.)

And then there was that free day when I went for a run over the bridge and down the beach. I just seemed to keep going, and before I knew it, the run lasted two and a half hours. There is nothing like celebrating some relaxing time off with a bit of pain and soreness. Then I saw it. The neon light shined brightly from the Sheraton across the way, catching my attention and luring me in. I figured why not, I'm on vacation. The Spa and Salon. Of course, it's only money.

I went in for a "spa" day. Technically, I only wanted the one hour massage. For all the ladies that make this a regular occurrence, it was a first time for me. Let me tell you, I had previously thought the run was painful. Silly me.

I soon found myself lying face down on a table with some woman pounding, scraping, jabbing, pulling, and poking the muscules on my vulnerable back. I swear she took joy in my screams of pain. How could anybody enjoy this punishment? Half the time, I couldn't figure out if it was her fingers jabbing me, or her elbows, or her knees, or if she was jumping on me with her feet. It went on and on. I finally begged her to move down two inches and one to the left. I was pretty sure there was a nerve there that she hadn't crushed yet. When it finally came to a merciful end, what does she do? She handed me a bottle of water, and told me to drink a lot to flush out all of the toxins she just released into my body. I felt like telling her that I could have injested poison all by myself and skipped one hour of pain and agony.

So once again, all the ladies that suffer through this on a regular basis now have my deepest sympathies and greatest respect. I guess we each have our own means for getting tortured.

On a lighter note, I returned alive and intact from this experience, only to find Dave sporting a wicked bruise underneath his lip. My question is, does anyone buy this excuse that he was the recipient of a vicious elbow during a futsal match? Perhaps I should clue you all into the rumor that Dave had a blind date while I was gone, and it was a rather clumsy incident during this secret rendezvous that led to the bruising.

Is there any truth to this?

Winter Wonders

2007-12-06T22:43:00.000-08:00

by Francie Jenson

Don’t you just love snow? Maybe its because I grew up in a place where winter snow was not the norm and therefore it is still a novelty to me, but I love snow! I love how beautiful it looks when you wake up to find all the world around you is glistening white. I love the way each branch of every tree looks like it has been frosted by some master baker. I especially love that now my yard looks just as well-manicured as all my neighbors (they probably love that too).

My kids were so excited when last weekend they woke up to snow – and it was actually a Saturday! There’s a theory around the Jenson house that it only ever snows on Sunday, when recreational activities are limited by our family’s observance of the Sabbath. The closest we get to snow play on a Sunday is shoveling the driveway. Or possibly making a very reverent snowman. In the backyard. Then, so the theory goes, by the time the kids get home from school on a Monday, the snow has inevitably melted and the promise of sledding and snowball fights was just one big tease. A classic example of Murphy’s Law.

But here we were at the very beginning of December with Saturday snow. Life was good and the day involved a lot of sledding and snow football. Don’t you just love snow?

There’s something else my husband, Ken, loves at least as much as I love snow. Ice. Not on the roads, or sidewalks, or driveway of course. No that’s not the kind of ice Ken loves. He loves ice in his drinks and chewing the ice once the drink is gone. But mostly Ken loves the medical applications of ice. If a child falls over, “Do you need some ice on that?” If muscles are aching, “You need to put some ice on that”. Soccer injury? “Let’s get home and put some ice on that”. Heaven forbid a person should suffer any kind of injury and there not be ice on hand.

Hence the distress when we opened the freezer this evening to find everything in there was defrosted. No ice. Not in the ice cube trays and not coating the outside of every other item in there that should have had a coating of ice on it. Not even a cold ice pack. After a quick transfer of all things that could be refrozen to the garage freezer, we investigated the situation. There was power to the appliance, we knew that – the lights were still coming on when you opened the door. The motor appeared to be running, it was humming along, and the fan appeared to be blowing air around. Just obviously not very cold air.

So we did what all good homeowners do when it is after working hours and you didn’t want to pay a repair guy anyway – we pulled it out from the wall, took off the back and vacuumed out the dust. (Yes, there was a lot of it.) Four and a half years of being shoved up against the wall had obviously taken its toll. The good news is after a cleaning and a little rest our freezer has ice once more. Life is good. Snow on a Saturday and ice in the freezer.

The Best Bad Luck

2007-11-30T19:50:00.001-08:00

By Ryan Wilson

I didn’t volunteer for a humanitarian expedition. I had the bad luck to not win an I-pod and that made all the difference.

About a year ago CHOICE Humanitarian, a large humanitarian organization started by some Utahns, held a fundraiser at Timberline Middle School. All I had to do was participate in a service project or pay a dollar to their organization to get a cool bracelet and my name entered in their drawing. David Hardman (93 Premier), one of my Ranger teammates, was doing his eagle project about then so for a few hours of effort I got my bracelet and a chance to win an I-pod.

CHOICE had a lot of other prizes in the drawing like a Wendy's gift card, Cinemark gift cards and, of course, the coveted I-pod. To increase my chances at winning the pod, I collected as many drawing tickets from less-interested friends and entered my name as many times as I could. In the first round of drawings they gave away everything including my I-pod with the exception of a place on a CHOICE Humanitarian expeditionary team. A week later when they were doing the school video announcements I figured it was a replay of my bad luck from the previous week. It wasn’t until everyone in class was congratulating me for being selected as a member of the expedition that I drew a blank. Did I just win a trip to the mountain jungles of Guatemala where they speak an Indian language and eat crazy stuff?

My parents weren’t too excited about the chaperone thing, so when Dave Woolley nearly jumped out of his skin about how cool the trip would be it didn’t take much to convince him to volunteer as the official adult chaperone—for lack of a better title. We decided November was the best time to go since coach wasn’t as busy with soccer. While the rest of you were eating turkey we were hanging out in the jungle.

The village we worked in is called Sajonte, high in the jungle mountains and about an hour walk from the river Cohabon down in a steep gorge-like valley. They had a water line running from a spring above the village but the small ½ inch pipe didn’t carry enough water for 60 families living in thatched-roof huts.

The money that expeditioners pay to participate goes towards purchasing pipe and other supplies needed for the project—money the villagers don’t have and the government doesn’t provide. The first day we hiked up the mountain to the spring and started digging a trench for the new pipe. It was two feet deep and two feet wide and by the time we got about 50 yards, the natives had accomplished about 150. They’re hard workers and they know how to swing a machete.

The second day we were a little bit more efficient. Don’t tell my mom, but I worked harder in Sajonte than I’ve ever worked at home.

By the third day my I-pod-bad-luck struck again. We started uncovering the old pipe near the holding tank on the slopes a few hundred feet above the village. Fellow expeditioner, Mike, hit the pipe with a pick ax and water started spewing out. Our resident genius Santiago, a local villager, fixed it by wrapping a piece of inner tube from a rubber bicycle tire around the crack. Pretty smart guy that Santiago. After some more digging Dave gave me a break on the shoveling. No more than 4 powerful pick-ax swings into the dirt he broke the pipe clean in half. So here we are trying to bring more water to the villagers and we nearly cause a drought and drive them from their homes. Really bad luck. Thanks to this guy in the photo below (Santiago the genious to the rescue) the water didn’t stop for too long.

Santiago fixed the pipe with a little fuego (fire) by warming the ends of a spare piece and wedging it open with a jungle vine enough to fit it over the broken ends before gluing it in place with glue from the only bottle in the village. Hopefully the pipe is still together.

One of the fun parts of the trip was the daily soccer game. In Sajonte they have a lot of members of the LDS church. Out in the middle of nowhere is a really nice LDS chapel complete with a solar panel for light on Sundays and a cement futsal court outside for all the other days (lights on the court not included).

We gathered there around 4:30 pm each day after the work was over and played until sundown at about 6:00 pm. We were really tired, but it was a blast and the natives are really good. Two boys from over the hill in another village, Neri (14) and Maynor (15), played with us every day. Edgar (18) was rather good. But the best of them all, I think, was Eddin (14). He was crazy good. We stuck some little kids in the goal and they weren't half bad.

It was my bad luck I didn't win an I-pod in the CHOICE drawing, but after this experience I’m really starting to like my bad luck. Helping the people in Sajonte was better than any tunes on a new I-pod. The people in village Sajonte changed me. And just maybe my luck is changing too.

Administrator's Meeting

2007-11-28T23:43:00.001-08:00

By Jason Patzke

Hello again. It seems I made another big mistake. I showed up at the annual Utah Rangers administrative meeting, and got cornered by a bunch of blog hungry individuals demanding a more recent posting. But don't worry, they were all easy to fend off. That was until Bonnie Arbon turned around. I was caught staring down the accusatory end of a very frightening finger. I could swear that pointer reached five yards across that table, and followed me as I shrank into a tiny ball. It did not matter where I tried to cower, that finger found me.

The real problem was not the terror of Bonnie's reach. (Believe me, there was dread.) It was that she did not provide me with any inspiration. I still had nothing to write about. In a moment of pure desperation, I stole Susan Wilson's notes from the meeting. (Anyone who was there would know that she was ordered to write down just about every comment that was spoken throughout the evening.) I just wanted to see what she was really writing. Boy was I in for a big surprise. It turned out to be a list of her own personal thoughts, and they were just too good to let go. I'm sorry Susan, but I need to publish some of them right here and now. Anything to escape Bonnie's wrath.

1 Doesn't Dave look like he is very experienced conducting relief society meetings? I bet he never thought he would be surrounded by so many women. I wonder if we could get him to start weaving a community quilt.

2 Why didn't Dave correct his spelling on this spreadsheet? Doesn't he know that requested is actually spelled with an E?

3 I thought xxxxxxxxxxx was in charge of checking Dave's spelling? Doesn't she know that requested is spelled with an E? Oh, well. I'm sure Dave is responsible for that one too. It is so easy to blame him for everything.

4 What is it going to take to get Dave to move on to the next point? I would try to move us along, but he would just ask me to write it down.

5 I can't believe I let Dave take Ryan to Guatemala.

6 That is what I will serve for for tomorrow's dinner!!! Thank goodness that dilemma has been solved.

7 Boy, Dave sure complains about all the time he has to spend running this website, and yet he thinks all of these little computer gadgets and shortcuts are awesome. Just how many of them is he going to put on display for us tonight?

8 How did Eric Stephens get out of this meeting?

9 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

10 Why didn't they just keep Dave down in Guatemala? I'm sure they could find some use for him. It sure would free up a lot of my time. No, I guess it wouldn't be right to do that to a third world country.

11 Focus, Susan. Dave is asking me to write something down again. What did he just say?

12 Oh wow!!! Bonnie Arbon is sitting next to me. Talk about being the role model of all role models in the Ranger administrative world.

13 I wonder if Francie agrees with me about uniform colors? I know that if I work hard enough, I could get some of these ladies to agree with me. We could form a union! We could do it! No more wearing white socks on a rainy day!!! Uniform washers unite!!!

14 What? Dave wants to attend even more tournaments?

15 Wait a minute. Those tournaments are fun. Oh, yeah. I forgot. Dave isn't the one collecting the fees.

16 Hey, why is Bonnie Arbon pointing that accusatory finger at Jason? And why is he cowering in a corner, trying desperately to hide from her?

17 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

18 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

19 Did Dave just say that we are almost done? I'm not quite finished daydreaming.

20 Gosh, I sure hope that Jason can escape that onslaught of peer pressure. It would be a pity if he had to blog under pressure. Man, that Bonnie Arbon is relentless.

I know it was mean and cruel to print some of your thoughts Susan, but I really do appreciate the sympathy you showed me in the end. To repay your own kindness, I have blacked out some of your more personal thoughts. I hope you can forgive me for this intrusion into your little note taking world.

Jason

Thursdays, futsal and thanksgiving ...

2007-11-15T22:51:00.000-08:00

By Francie Jenson

Thursdays are starting to come around way too often. Coming up with something new to say every week is getting harder and harder. Last week I roped in reinforcements and with Nina’s help much was accomplished (much hilarity anyway!). I know we had more fun writing that post than any of you had reading it.

I could just NOT post anything this week – there is definitely a precedent for that here … Only my over-developed sense of responsibility prevents me from abstaining completely. That and the fact that next Thursday is Thanksgiving and I’m pretty sure I’ll feel fine about excusing myself from posting a blog on a national holiday. I tried recruiting a talented e-mail writer, asking her to post a guest blog, but she assured me even flattery would not induce her to come to my aid.

So here we are. Thursday night at 10:22 p.m. and nothing for the blog. I could write about futsal. I love the futsal season. Especially now that we no longer have to wear our winter woollies and bring blankets and hot chocolate just to stay thawed while watching the game. Futsal is fast and exciting, you can show up ten minutes before the game, there’s only one or maybe two games a week and no practices. Games are twenty minute halves with about a thirty second half time. Spectators have a bird’s eye view of all the goals and there are goals aplenty. What’s not to love?

But then if I write about futsal, I might feel obliged to tell you all about the time I backed into a certain Ranger coach’s car in the Open Court parking lot and I really don’t want to go there.

Next topic idea? Thanksgiving would be a logical choice. Only who could top Coach Woolley’s thanksgiving post? Next Thursday I’ll be enjoying the standard Thanksgiving fare at my sister-in-law’s house in Salt Lake City which, wonderful as it will be, hardly makes for riveting reading. Although my brother-in-law does make the most incredible candied yams – his marshmallow, coconut and pecan topping tempts even my non-vegetable eating children to partake!

Ah well, its late and I should post before its Friday. Maybe the best post I could write today would be to just take a moment and say how grateful I am for the blessings in my life. Blessings of home and family and friends. Blessings of faith and hope and love. Blessings of health and happiness and laughter. I have much to be thankful for.

And perhaps a soccer note of thanksgiving: Thank you to our fabulous Rangers coaches – both the club coaches who share of their expertise in training soccer players and developing fine young men and the parent coaches who step up so brilliantly when they are called upon. Thank you to all the other club volunteers – grounds crew, administrators, photographers – who put in countless hours to help keep everything rolling along. Thank you to the parents who faithfully transport their children to every game and training, who wash the uniforms and drive home again for the forgotten cleats, who cheer from the sidelines and are supportive through both the wins and the losses. And thank you to the Rangers boys who play the game they love - without whom we have no soccer club. Happy thanksgiving to everyone in our Rangers family.

Go Rangers!

Snake for Thanksgiving

2007-11-13T10:52:00.000-08:00

By David Woolley

I never should have agreed to ten days in a snake-infested jungle, hanging out with local Indian villagers and checking out ancient ruins as possible settings for a future book. But when Ryan Wilson (93 Premier) won an almost-all-expense-paid spot on the Choice Humanitarian cultural work project and expedition to the hinterlands of Guatemala and when his parents declined to fill the required chaperon position, dummy me, I accepted the calling to watch over the boy. Which means when those indigenous cannibals come after us white men, I'll volunteer to go hunt for more firewood while they boil Ryan in a pot.

Early this coming Saturday morning, November 17th, we arrive in Guatemala City and hook up with our eight-member expeditionary team before puddle-jumping in a prop plane into the mountain jungles of Guatemala. Picture a remote airstrip just wide enough for one 12-seat, rusty-bucket, single engine craft from the 1960s to squeeze between mammoth rain forest vegetation rising forty feet off the jungle floor. No radar. No tower. No terminal. Nothing but a lone wind sock made from the intestines of the last white man to land in those parts and you get just an inkling of the stupidity required to volunteer for an adventure like this.

The pre-departure handout from the expeditionary force reads: "In Guatemala we run into numerous creatures which the villagers will tell you cause Muerto--dos horas. All you Spanish speakers out there are already laughing. For you non-linguistic types, the rough translation is "dead in two hours." The literal translation is, "What the heck was I thinking?" In this particular Central American jungle there are, and I quote, "coral snakes, poisonous lizards, poisonous millipedes, and tarantulas," to say nothing of the larger beasts with long fangs and complete disregard for the power of a US passport or the long arm of the US State Department. The advice from the expeditionary force? Be careful. The closest hospital is more than a two hour mad-dash through the jungle. I repeat: "Muerto, dos horas!"

Right next to the I-hate-poisonous-creatures line is the I-detest-pre-departure-shots-filled-with-half-dead-microscopic-organisms line. All that doctored-up gamma globulin is engineered to develop an immunity to yellow fever, white fever, black plague, DPT, DT and Sparta. And they still don't have a shot for the common cold. But then, after reviewing the goal production stats from the U18 state cup third group match, we haven't much of a shot either.

There are lots of shots for this expedition, none of which I have allowed be administered to me due to my complete hatred of needles. Needles in the arm. In the bum. In the thigh. One in my big toe. They're the kind that swell up, hurt lots and produce hallucinations of men with spears and painted faces. The expedition Nazis (aka the Wilson family) finally stepped in and set up an appointment with the health department on Wednesday morning, otherwise the immigration service would have likely booted me from the plane. We could hope, right?

There are some redeeming virtues to this expedition. Ryan Wilson will likely never complain about his mother's cooking again. I get to visit the most likely site for the ancient coastal mountain Land of Nephi (Guatemala City), the likely site of the City of Nephi (Kaminaljuyu) and also the ruins of the most likely location for the Mulekite's ancient city of Zarahemla (Tikal) on the sprawling eastern plains region of the country. We both get to play soccer with the locals (Go Rangers) as long as we bring our own ball. No pig bladders please. We get to help put in the seasonal crops. And the Guatemalan Indian villagers get to watch us run for cover at the first sighting of an *eighty-legged millipede.

So next Thursday, November 22nd, while the rest of you are enjoying moist turkey, mashed potatoes accented with a light brown gravy, a helping of your mother's yams, some sage & onion dressing and your aunt's sweet rolls, Ryan and I will be dodging poisonous darts from the rival villagers across the piranha-infested Grijavla River while fighting over the last helping of raw snake flesh. In all your feasting next week, don't forget to offer a prayer of thanks in our behalf. We'll likely not be in much of a thankful state of mind.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

*Editors Note: millepedes have between 80-450 legs so an eighty-legged poisonous millipede like the one mentioned above, would give us the greatest chance of survival. Its much slower and certainly out-runnable.

Top Thirteen Reasons to be a Rangers Administrator:

2007-11-08T20:25:00.000-08:00

By Francie Jenson and Nina Bingham

#13. You get to know all 16 team members names and jersey numbers faster than anyone else.

#12. You learn the location of every soccer field in Northern Utah and the fastest way to get there.

#11. You have the power to ensure the boys are wearing their dark uniforms when it rains (and every parent who has ever tried to wash mud out of the whites will thank you for it.)

#10. You have a really healthy self-esteem -- you know you're popular because you always have new e-mail in your inbox.

#9. Every time you have to go to the State Office in SLC you can carpool with another administrator and do lunch.

#8. You know the password to the website and can log in to correct all Dave’s typos. (It’s preparation, Dave.)

#7. You get to wear gorgeous orange vests while policing parking lots during State Cup – when your team isn’t even playing.

#6. You learn how to win friends and influence people while simultaneously hounding them for money.

#5. You can experience the thrill of Dave actually answering all of your very important phone calls … unless of course he's having “technical difficulties”.

#4. You get to eat out a lot because instead of preparing dinner you were working on important soccer stuff. Your family will also develop a love of cold cereal.

#3. You feel just like one of Charlie’s Angels because an invisible ‘boss’ gives you all your tasks and instructions via e-mail.

#2. One day, many years from now, you could achieve “Bonnie Arbon/Susan Wilson” status, the pinnacle of Rangers Administration success.

And the number one reason to be a Rangers Administrator?

#1. You make great friends!

Are You Hungry?

2007-11-02T11:08:00.000-07:00

By Brian Hardman

With state cup ending one game shy of a championship in the semi finals Thursday, I feel the need to reflect a little and looking in the mirror just doesn't cut it. Blogging is the next best alternative.

Don't you wish you could have that missed shot back? Or maybe another chance at that tackle and this time you won't get called for the PK--you're sure of it! Or maybe this time you'll find the wind to make a few more overlapping runs behind the opponents defense and see if you can change the result. Only 18 of the thousands of players registered in the cup will end the season with a win which makes for a lot of very talented yet disappointed players out there. In his latest, but likely not greatest (that's yet to come) post our beloved blogger Jason Patske wrote that “all athletes have to know the feeling of a loss”. That may be true oh great wise one, but it was Michael Jordan who knocked it out of the park (sorry about another reference to a boring american sport) when he said, "I have failed over and over and over again, and that is why I succeed.”

I know your pain and I'm not just using that worn-out phrase to make you feel better. Just ask Dave and he'll tell you about my experience. When I was a young youth player I lost a lot of games (with the help of my team I should add) until we found out how to win.

We (the coaching staff) are pleased with the progress you've made this year. Your training is showing up brilliantly on the field. But what separates great players from exceptional ones is that when they face defeat they don't get upset, they don't complain, they don't walk out on themselves or their teammates, they don't give up, give out or give in. They simply figure out how to get better. They analyze their weaknesses and then they go about turning those weaknesses into strengths.

You won't be playing outdoors much this winter (unless your name is Parker-my dad shovels snow-Hedrick), but it isn't break time. Take advantage of the winter to shore up weaknesses in your game. Do you need to improve your physical abilities? Maybe lift some weights? Or do some sprint training? What about your touch on the ball? Do you need to spend some time there? Figure out your balance? Add some shielding or dribbling techniques to your game? What about your defending skills? Do you tackle well? Need to learn to be more aggressive? Are you getting a personal soccer work out a few times each week or more? Do you play 2 on 2 or 3 on 3 or 4 on 4 with friends or teammates after school? Are you an organizer? Do you have it in you to get some soccer going? Are you hungry? Do you look for parking lots or gyms or any space where you can throw down for a pick up game?

If not putting the ball in the net left you wanting another try. If you're certain you can do better, run faster, knock it around more accurately, make better decisions, win the ball back more often---if all of this state cup action only made you hungry for another chance, then congratulations! You may just be one of those players who has greatness in him.

If you fail enough times, you'll figure out how to succeed.

Hobbies

2007-10-31T20:24:00.001-07:00

By Francie Jenson

Apparently, I need a hobby. In the struggle to come to terms with back-to-back unexpected defeats this week, I’ve had to wonder if maybe I’m not just a little too involved.

I know its normal for a parent to feel for their children as they suffer disappointments. And maybe being the team administrator gives me an excuse for feeling the pain a little stronger than most. But when my feelings this morning were bordering on grief, even I had to admit this was just too much. It was at that point that Nina said, “You need a hobby”.

Which made me laugh. Because where am I going to find time in my life for a hobby? Life's already a constant battle of choices between good, better and best as it is! How on earth could I add one more thing? If I add a new thing, something I’m already doing will have to go. Anyway, if I were to drop some existing demands on my time, I know where my family would insist that reclaimed time be used – they’d like dinner please. Every night, instead of once in a blue moon!

So maybe I could take up a hobby of gourmet cooking. That would keep them happy. As long as I didn’t use too many vegetables. Ken would like me to take up scrapbooking and do artistically creative things with his one hundred gigabytes of digital photos. Only problem there lies in the whole artistically creative part. In today’s politically correct world you could call me ‘craft challenged’ and that would still be kind …

But wait, I have hobbies. I love to read. October was a good month for me – I read my way through a seven book series about teenage resistance fighters during an invasion of Australia (excellent, John Marsden, highly recommended) and a three book series about vampires and werewolfs (apparently the best books you’ve ever read if you’re a teenage girl, must be my age, addictive? yes, best books ever? no). I love to watch HGTV (is that a hobby?). And don’t forget this whole Rangers Administrator thing – if that’s not a hobby, then it must be a full time job (and I just don’t remember ever seeing a paycheck … ).

Maybe all I need is a little balance. Like Jason said, if you’re going to play sports, losses happen. The fall soccer season may have come to an abrupt end. That’s okay, time to move on to the winter. Take up a new hobby or just reassign some time that’s been soccer focused to something that’s been sitting on the back burner during the season. I might see if the apples in the garage are still suitable for applesauce. I’ll breathe deep and not think about soccer for a while.

Hold on, what’s that? We need to form up teams for futsal? We have too many boys for one team, but not enough for two? Okay, I’ll get right on that …

The Field of Dreams

2007-10-29T20:05:00.000-07:00

By Jason Patzke

This posting is coming on the heels of a tragic night at the fields. Three Ranger sides suffered heartbreaking defeats, and their fall seasons got sent into hibernation. Each player and coach returned home dejected, and yet resolute in their commitment to push forward. Each dealt with the disappointment in their own special way. Dave was not immune to this need for distracting thoughts. The problem is, his thoughts turned to the ongoing pursuit of building the perfect field.

He sat down, and constructed a detailed list of chores, tasks, jobs, and downright evil assignments for his loyal flock to complete. Right now, he is taking volunteers for each task, and he is hoping that each calling will be willingly accepted. But do not kid yourself. Conscription is alive and well, and a full on draft will be employed to fill every position if we do not step up. He does not know this, but I snuck a copy of the list out of his car. It looks a lot like this:

1: There seems to be a photosynthesis problem on the south academy field. Sunlight is only penetrating one side of each blade of grass. A volunteer is needed to turn over each blade with a pair of tweezers to even out the exposure. Dave anticipates that this will have to be done once a week until the morning dew turns to frost. Then it will become a daily ritual.

2: The latest storms led to a lot of wear and tear in the west goal mouth on the south field. We will need to plant some new seed to generate a thick and rich turf. Only, this is Dave's perfect field, and a random dispersal pattern for seeds is unacceptable. Each one must be placed perfectly in their prescribed location. This will require the help of Greg Jolley and his landscaping expertise, and the mathematics of Eric Stephens. Man that guy can create music with an abacus and a protractor.

3: Dave got out his tape measure, and calculated the distance the shadows stretch from the trees on the east side. The shadows are stretching out onto the north field, and are messing with the critical early morning sunlight. The first three trees only need to be trimmed, but the fourth tree has got to go. We do not have permission from the hospital to cut it down, so this job will have to be performed sometime around 2 am. And no loud chainsaws will be permitted.

4: The academy goals have some paint chipping, and they need to be touched up. No broad strokes allowed, only pinpoint strokes creating a smooth and even layer. Bring your own toothbrush.

5: After the snow flies, we will need daily volunteers to act as crossing guards to direct the school children safely across the snow covered fields without stepping on any crucial areas. We will need one stationed by the elementary school, and another one by the junior high. They will need to be available both before and after school.

6: Four eighteen foot high fences with three rows of barbed wire and a portable generator to supply electrical current will need to be constructed around each penalty box. Wait a minute. Cancel that. Someone cued Dave in that this would require putting fenceposts in his field. Instead, we are conducting a study of physics on how to levitate this fence on the field without having to damage the surface. All ideas are welcome.

7: In lieu of the fence, we will need volunteers to shovel the snow off of each penalty area following every storm. The snow must be removed without the shovels actually coming into contact with the grass, and thus damaging the surface. This will help the crossing guards to direct the students away from these critical areas.

Yes, the list goes on and on. Dave has clearly lost it. But he is also on the right track.

You see, a little bit of humor can go a long way when dealing with these tragic losses. Don't ever forget to keep it light, and have a little fun. It will get you through the tough times. It is what makes it worth all of the effort.

For most athletes, competition is where they find their own personal joy. Fierce battles out on the pitch drive them, filling them with a desire to achieve and succeed. It can push them to accomplish more than they ever thought they could. But the tragic truth about sports is this: Nobody wins them all. Disappointment is very real, and very common. If you can't learn to compete, and experience satisfaction with a hard fought battle in both victory and defeat, then sports will only serve to be a source of perpetual frustration.

So to all the Rangers who suffered heartbreaking defeats, remember to find the joy, and laughter, and humor, and satisfaction, and etc. that comes with the competition. Remember it, and we will get them next year.

STATE CUP: Memories of Cups Gone By

2007-10-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

By Bonnie Arbon

Saturday afternoon I sat down at my computer to compose my weekly emails to my missionary sons. One son, Ryan, is serving in San Bernardino, California. The other son, my (former) Ranger, Stephen, is serving in Sao Paulo, Brazil. I can see outside my office window that it is snowing. Hard. I write Steve, “It is snowing here at home, and State Cup begins on Monday. Count your blessings that you don’t have to play in it!” Hmm, count your blessings…so I began. I was blessed to be one of the administrator’s for my son’s ’87 team. (As Dave likes to tell the story, when he asked for volunteers to help out, all the parents took a giant step backwards and left me sitting all by my onesie.) I didn’t know enough to be scared at that point! What I found out was, basically, I had a comet by the tail! And that I was either on my way to the field, or on my way home from the field (or the district registrar’s house, or from UYSA in SLC, or a game, or the sporting goods store, or…).

I was blessed to have my son surrounded by 16 of the finest boys in Utah Valley, and their families. I was blessed with transportation that would chauffer any six of those boys wherever the next game took us. And I will even say that I was blessed (for a couple of years!) of being captive in that van for the five-hour round trip drive to Logan and back while those same fine boys devoured (and tossed at one another) the animal crackers I always carried (soccer food, you understand). Oh, and the smelly socks, shin guards, cleats that would come off these fine boys’ feet after an hour or so of intense playing!

I was blessed to be able to travel nearly everywhere with Steve to the friendly games Dave would arrange in Las Vegas and the week-long games in California. I missed only one trip – the one that took our U-13 State Cup Champs to Pleasanton, California for regionals (it was my husband’s 50th birthday, and he had made arrangements for our family to celebrate it at Walt Disney World). Steve had to make the “difficult” choice of where he was going to be for that week in June. It took him about 0.2 seconds to tell us that he would be going with his team to California.

I was blessed that Steve could spend many hours with two of the finest coaches a parent could ask for. At one point, Steve was our team’s back-up keeper, thereby profiting from Jason’s wisdom and experience in the net. One of my favorite memories is that sometimes, my administrative duties would take me to the field to get a signature on something, or to ask a question when the ‘87’s weren’t training. When I would approach Dave and Jason, Jason would ask, “What are you doing here? Your son isn’t training today!” And, when Steve went to the first U11 tryout, Dave took all the boys out on the field (about 100 of them) and started them drilling. After about an hour, he gave them a break and Steve, hot and sweaty, came over to me to get a drink. I asked him how things were going. His response is as clear in my memory today as it was that day in 1996: “I want that guy for my coach!” Oh, how very blessed we were that he got his wish!

So, I’m feeling sorry for myself today. I miss watching Steve play soccer. In the rain. In the snow. In the heat of mid-July. When we took him, our missionary son to the airport for him to board his flight to the CTM in Sao Paulo, there was just something very wrong: I WASN’T GOING THROUGH SECURITY WITH HIM!! And I’d been just about everywhere with him. Sigh…perhaps I need to find my way to the field this week and take in a couple of State Cup matches, if for no other reason than to hear Jason ask me, “What are you doing here? Your son isn’t training today!”

GO RANGERS!!

STATE CUP: The Rhythm

2007-10-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

By Jason Patzke

Dave continues to pester me about writing for the blog. He says to just write about anything. The fields, the games, state cup, the smell of the fresh cut grass, or last evening's late night meal. Any topic is fair game. But I can't operate under those conditions. I can't put thoughts into words without having a reason to elaborate. In other words, I need an event, or a spark of inspiration to motivate me.

Unfortunately, an event happened two days ago that provided this spark. It is unfortunate because no humor can be found in it. You see, two days ago, a man I had barely known for thirteen years, and yet did know, was performing a job that I have undertaken thousands of times over the last decade. The difference is, he suffered a heart attack not fifty yards away from where I was working, and passed away on the scene.

This blog is not intended to be spiritual, theological, or even philosophical. It is just an acknowledgement that there is a certain rhythm to life. This rhythm is present in our daily rituals. You can see it when we work, when we eat, when we play, and when we sleep. All of these daily events always seem to transpire just the same way they did the day before. Over and over again.

I recently suffered through a major variation. A shift change at work has changed the times at which I perform these daily rituals. The last one to change has been adjusting to new sleep patterns. Very little sleep always leads to mental and physical fatigue. Until I change these patterns, there will be a major change in my daily rhythms. It is simply not possible to operate at my best.

I know this rambling seems out there, coming from nowhere, and just plain strange. But those who have been paying attention over the last couple of years have heard the coaching staff implore the players to find a rhythm out on the pitch. They are asking the players to receive the ball, touch the ball, and play the ball in a manner that is in unison with the rest of the team. They are asking the players to run off the ball, show for the ball, and call for the ball in a manner that keeps the ball moving all over the pitch. They are asking the players to play in sync, as one, and making sure that everyone gets involved. When a team can count on everyone contributing, it has a chance to overcome imposing obstacles, and accomplish greatness. That is our hope for the upcoming state cup.

When there is a variation in this rhythm, the team is not at its best. When players take too many touches, or take too long to release the ball, their teammates stop running off the ball. The attack shuts down, and greatness disappears. Just like a coach that does not get enough sleep at night, a team does not perform well when its rhythm is disrupted.

The Rangers have an opportunity to succeed beyond their greatest expectations these next two weeks. But it will take an effort from everyone out on the pitch, working in sync, and striving to achieve the same results. That would be goals. One goal, and lots of them.

To all the Rangers: Find the rhythm in yourselves, and help to foster it in your teammates.

STATE CUP: Under Pressure

2007-10-18T16:19:00.001-07:00

By Francie Jenson

State Cup is upon us. Two weeks of intense soccer. Twelve to sixteen teams per age group battling it out to be recognized as the best in the state. Add to that the motivation that this year’s winners will go on to the Regional Championships in Hawaii. If there was ever a year to win State Cup, this would be it! [Note to my Rangers 97 team: there is still no U11 bracket at Regionals, sorry.]

With State Cup comes a certain amount of pressure. Players feel it, coaches feel it – even the spectators on the sidelines are not immune. The evidence that spectators also feel pressure is alluded to in this State Cup rule: “It shall be the responsibility of each team to maintain proper spectator conduct. The coaches, manager and the team shall be held primarily responsible for the conduct of the spectators from the respective teams.”

Generally I think Rangers supporters are a pretty good bunch. I don’t believe any of our supporters intend to become unruly spectators. But we all know not everyone keeps it together all the time …

Alex Madsen has already posted an excellent blog relating to spectator behavior towards referees – if you haven’t read that yet, be sure and do so. I wanted to comment on spectator behavior towards opposing teams. The problem may have its root in the word “opponents”. When we find ourselves developing a ‘them’ and ‘us’ mentality it becomes really easy to view the opposing team as the enemy.

Once we have decided our boys are playing ‘the enemy’ then it colors our thinking in all kinds of ways. When they foul, they’re playing dirty and trying to hurt our players. Our boys are just playing hard. If their player falls to the ground, he’s flopping. If our player falls to the ground, he was fouled. Their coach trains them to play like this. Our coaches wouldn’t do that and anyway we know they don’t have time because they are much too busy having the boys run sprints!

We get so caught up in the spirit of the competition that our thinking and our behavior towards the opposing team gets skewed. We lose sight of the fact that in reality their team is just like ours. They are boys who love the game of soccer, have trained hard and now are out there giving their best in a State Cup match. They are somebody else’s sons, and their parents and coaches believe they deserve to win just as much as we believe our boys do.

This State Cup, if you find yourself becoming judgmental in your thinking towards the team playing your Ranger team, why not give them the benefit of the doubt? Try viewing their soccer behavior through the same rosy colored glasses we use when watching our own players. I’m interested to see what a difference this could make to our entire State Cup experience. Let’s be the best supporters at State Cup – no matter how much pressure we are under.

The Routine

2007-10-13T15:56:00.000-07:00

By Chelsea Jolley

Greg has asked me to guest blog for him this week--maybe he's tired (he fell asleep last night before 9 p.m. and slept till 8 a.m.). Today we have had a day of not one single soccer game, actually Greg went down and watched his alumni game at the Y because he isn't allowed to run until November so he couldn't play. We finally got some cleaning done that has been delayed as we have a couple weeks until we start a new season. For many of us life changes a little bit with each season fall, spring, summer, winter.

For us each season coincides with a new sport season. Our lives and routines change according to what sport we're involved with. I am a person who likes routines, I like consistency and then I need a change. One of the reasons we've loved Utah is that there are climate changes for each season, compared to our beloved Victor, Idaho. There is only 9 months of winter and 3 months of relatives (Idaho joke).

As fall season of Rangers is coming to an end it's nice to have a change from some of the routines. For Greg that means no more academy, two x-league teams, u-12 team, and a girls u-13 team. A coach feels a little loss, because they're not sure what to do with themselves and all those massive amounts of time (ha ha). But at the same time I know he'll be a little relieved to not have to deal with refs, not have to tell a nine year old boy one more time who he is subbing for, hours of putting up and taking down flags, picking up 25 water bottles (p.s. parents they don't drink that expensive gatorade), and picking up 15 white and maroon jerseys that can't make it into that expensive backpack you bought. This also means that I don't have to wash those jerseys anymore and Greg can quit making me police the curb (is it really that hard to use the parking lot?). As if you haven't figured out which one of us is the nice guy.

The next winter season brings for us futsal and basketball and whenever we can get a ski day in. Greg gets to do all the running to the futsal games and the kids to basketball practice and games, because my basketball season starts with the high school. I now do practice every day and games every week and he does "the rest". I like it for a little while, it's a really nice change and I really like the head cases of 15 year old girls.

Spring brings about a new soccer season as well as little league and track and lots more coaching takes place. Never mind that it's the end of school and we have to still try and do homework and every kind of end of year celebration. Maybe this is the year Cade decides little league is too much, but if not he'll keep having fun. Life just seems too busy for school and we can't wait till it ends so we can have more time.

More time. Except that summer means basketball camps, soccer camps, and coach pitch, tball, softball, girls camp, scout camp, academy practice, soccer tournaments, and youth conference. Before May even hits our summer is scheduled out and I get to hear Greg complain that we never get a real vacation. You know we might get one if we didn't take the only week we have and go to Idaho every year. But why break the routine now.

I knew when our oldest started kindergarten that the routines would begin, school, summer, school, summer, ... I also realized that time was going to fly and before we knew it she would be graduating. Time is doing just that. When Greg says "after this I'll have more time", I tell him to stop saying that, it's never going to happen. When we realize that we have more time, we're going to miss all these routines that we have become so accustomed to and we'll be old. We'll also probably be driving around trying to find a soccer game to go to on a Saturday.

A Horrible Warning

2007-10-11T22:27:00.000-07:00

By Francie Jenson

You’ve got to love family. If it weren’t for family you could go through life ignoring the many foibles you know you have. It takes someone who really loves you to share with you the (sometimes brutal) truth that, yes, you actually have a problem.

While playing Phase 10 this evening with my sister and nine year old daughter, Dione (my sister) told me something my family have often told me over the years: “You are a really bad sport!” At which point she laughed and said maybe I shouldn’t be an administrator for a soccer team because I’m really not a good role model. (I think this problem could also be sufficient reason for me to be banned from posting here at The Far Post. Would someone please call for my dismissal?)

In my defense, can I just say that I was on phase 3 for five rounds? FIVE ROUNDS! On phase 3! If that doesn’t elicit your sympathy, then clearly you have never played the game … In Dione’s defense, my reaction to being on phase 3 for five rounds was not pretty. And I’ll admit it wasn’t an isolated incident.

The other night we played Settlers of Catan. I love the game. Most of the time. Okay, so I love this game when there's at least a slim possibility I might win. There are times in a game of Settlers when you haven’t produced a single commodity in you can’t remember how many rounds and then when one of your numbers is finally rolled the robber is on it, again, and quite frankly, you just know this game is going nowhere for you. In these instances, I’m ashamed to admit, everyone with whom I am playing becomes well aware I am a bad sport. Luckily, the friends I like to play this game with the most find this amusing. My family, however, are not always as enamored with my behavior.

So, my sister mused, how come your children are such good sports? Well, actually a couple of them have been known to have their moments too, but none have inherited their mother’s expert ability to whine and “woe is me” about how the fates are against them when things aren’t going well in a game. In fact at least one of my children is an excellent sport and has impressed teammates and parents over the years with his fine example of sportsmanship on and off the field.

I can’t say why things have turned out this way – except maybe I’ve been such a bad example that they’ve decided not to mimic me. Its quite possibly a classic case of “If you can’t be a good example, at least be a horrible warning!” I find it oddly comforting to know that my faults may be turned into strengths in future generations. Meanwhile, I guess I’ll work on trying harder to just enjoy playing the game, even when someone else is winning.

Or I could only play games I know I’ll win … anyone up for a game of Boggle?

Why would one be reading this?

2007-10-10T21:49:00.000-07:00

It's late, I'm tired, and I still have to pack for a nice long weekend vacation - Yes we coaches do have lives, well some of us - and yet I am here typing away. Why? I have no idea yet all day long I dreaded this moment as I knew I would end up writing something.

But then a different thought came to me. It doesn't have to be smart and witty, or have a plethora of long words that I don't understand anyways (like some of the blogs the coaches post) none of this matters cause guess what. IT'S VACATION. And a better question is one that those who are reading this should ask themselves. "Why am I reading this? I finally have a vacation and I am on the Rangers Website seeing what is new. I got to get out more."

We finally let all of you players out of our care for a few days, so why would anyone read this. I feel bad for the few people that come to these blogs looking for inspiration cause if you are one of these people it's not going to happen. So stop reading, and enjoy the next few days without us cause I know that the coaches will.

My vacation starts with this period (.)

Oh and if you are a player don't forget your daily sprints, and if you are a parent don't forget to make your son do his daily sprints. Now enjoy the vacation

The Great Misty Haze

2007-10-09T19:33:00.000-07:00

By Jason Patzke

It happened again. An experience that I thought (or rather hoped) would never come to pass again. You see, my alarm clock went off. That incessant noise polluting the air, disturbing my fitful sleep. The remarkable fact isn't that the alarm woke me up. It is the conversation that took place with myself at that moment.

A few nights ago, I sat there, and stared at a blaring clock. "Why did you go off? Why did I set you for 2:40 am? Why am I up? What's going on here? Why am I up at 2:40 am?" Yes, these queries were spoken aloud. And then the unimaginable happened. The secondary alarm went off.

At this point, all kinds of chaos took place. My flailing arms searched for the second noise, grasping at anything and everything. I didn't have the sense to turn off the first noisemaker, and now a second drove me to the brink of insanity. The great hazy mind at work. Why was I going through this madness at 2:40 in the morning? Finally, it hit me. Work! Get up. Work! Ten minutes later I was in the car cruising down the freeway, embarking upon another day.

That scene was played out four years ago, and recurred again just last week. It is the curse of working at a job where seniority is almost never attainable. Four years later, and I was again forced to take the 4:00 am line in order to hold a shift during daylight hours. This is, of course, Dave's dream shift. I am even more available, and he does love to schedule those free hours in the afternoon. And more importantly, he doesn't have to talk out loud to two different alarm clocks at 2:40 in the morning.

To me, this is the shift that guarantees that a dull pressure will be constantly pressing inside my forehead, and screaming out for more sleep. It is the shift that leaves me daydreaming, and even planning, for my next four hours of consecutive sleep. It is the shift that attacks common reason, and leaves me feeling dumber than inanimate objects when simple tasks like folding a canopy (or turning on a computer) become a mental challenge. It is the shift that drives me nuts because I know that all decisions will be made with an exhausted, and unclear, mind.

But there is a big bonus. I no longer have to stay up half the night trying to come up with silly ideas to post when Dave pesters me to write. Soon, there will be a free flowing stream of thoughts, creating both chaos and anarchy inside my exhausted mind. Imagine a mind unable to focus, lost inside of itself. Nothing ever seems to make sense, and it certainly doesn't make me anymore understandable. You see, wild and crazy thoughts just waiting to be typed into a computer.

Remember, I lived like a zombie four years ago, and I certainly know what is coming in the very near future. Long naps in the car, hopefully while the car is not moving. Bad decisions. Crazy thoughts. Mindless wandering. Random inane ideas. A whole new perspective on everything going on around me. Who knows, this might even be fun.

Having said that, it is time to make my next big decision. The next great goal, or quest, to be fulfilled in my life will be.... Sorry. I will let you know when the great misty haze in my head can clear up all of the details. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll wait until the next crazy scheme is successfully completed, or at least, attempted and met with tragic results. Until then...

"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is the moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle-victorious."

Vince Lombardi

Which One Will Get Married First?

2007-10-09T13:48:00.001-07:00

This guest blog was thoughtfully submitted by Wesley Talbot (U18 Premier 90). We are uncertain exactly what kind of thoughts they were. It may be poor judgement of the coaching staff not to delete this post, however if we find the staff starts getting emails from internet dating services we'll be sure to forward them to Wes. Thanks for your post Wes and next time try actually writing something.

Will it be this happy Fellow?

The Heroic Marathon Runner?

The Youthful Coach? (Eric Stephens)

Or the dedicated Trainer?

Tradition!!!!

2007-10-06T21:56:00.000-07:00

After reading Dave's blog about waiting in line for tickets it got me thinking about TRADITION. The Fiddler on the Roof made it famous in song; BYU Football has used it as a marketing tool (it's working); and we all have our own traditions that are part of us as individuals, families, or teams.

It is fun to watch the young Academy players start their own traditions. I remember the first year of academy when goals aplenty were scored and Parker, Jesus, Ben, Jacob, (you all know who you are), would pre-plan their celebrations after a goal. The shoe shine in my opinion was the most creative. Cade's (U12 Premier) team started a tradition of kissing the field after the opening cheer. I think there was a direct relationship between winning and that implementation of tradition. Last years x-league team started a tradition of running the outside perimeter of the field and the final stretch consisted of whacking the hand of every parent, sibling, friend that attended the match as they ran back to the bench. The x-league team this year has continued that tradition along with the U11's. I hope to see them doing some iteration of this tradition as they get older (I would love to see after a U18 match in seven years or so, all those boys give mom and dad a slap on the hand after the match). Oh Tradition!

October and April bring traditions. We just returned from a great session of Priesthood tonight where our traditions were enhanced by a couple of circumstances. The four boys (grandsons are adding to this total every year!) and dad Jolley have always eaten and then attended the session. Usually Bishop Jolley "forces" one of his children to sneak in some bag of candy into the session (tonight it was gummy bears). When somebody nods off (this is survival mode) a little boost of sugar energy is passed along the aisle (quietly and discreetly of course!). Brian benefited the most from that boost as the St. George Marathon took it out of him this morning. Jordan (U16 Rangers Premiere) nods off on his dad's (George) shoulder and claims to have "listened" with both ears (if by ears you mean the outside of the eyelids, then yes he definitely listened). Bryce and Bishop are the most attentive, but they too are the most righteous (a school teacher and dirt doctor). We are thinking of dying Bryce's hair red so that he will loosen up a bit (kudos to President Hinckley).

Dinner came after the session tonight as Academy games ran into our normal dinner time. For at least 20 years now all of us "responsible" (yes we all work for a living) children suddenly forget we have wallets and dad is stuck with the tab. A mystery that may never be solved.....all that we know is that this irresponsibility happens at least twice a year. Ernie's has been our spot of choice lately. This tradition includes discussions about what is wrong with college football (in the fall) and what is wrong with college basketball (in the spring). We have all the answers if anybody would listen to us. We will know there is balance in the world when we walk into Ernie's and the game on the big screen is Real Madrid vs. Barca in last weeks La Liga match (and of course Real wins). No need for debate on this one.

J has started a tradition in our home. He has gone through more shin guards this year than any child on earth (we need to superglue those things to his legs). Billie has started a tradition of wearing the most clothes in a single day (we went through at least 5 full sets of clothes......all of which contained pink). Cade's traditions are more subtle, but usually include smelly things (he is an 11 year old boy you know); no further explanation needed! Taylor has a tradition of calling mom and dad nearly 20 times/hour during her babysitting duties. These traditions are not really traditions, but annoying observations made by mom and dad. But, they are remembered just the same.

So, in a weekend steeped in tradition, begin one of your own. Oh Tradition!!!

The Results Are In

2007-10-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

The results from the sporting behavior poll, the "who has the best fields" poll and the "fan and player seating poll" are tallied and posted in the right hand sidebar. Take a moment to vote in our two new Ranger Training polls and one new poll about what fans like most about matches.

Juggling

2007-10-04T08:04:00.000-07:00

By Francie Jenson

There is a man in my neighborhood who knows how to juggle. He’s very popular with the kids at the annual stake picnic and many a school fair. People watch in fascination as he keeps multiple items in motion in the air without dropping anything.

This week I looked at the calendar and knew I was going to have to juggle. Multiple items are crowding each day and someone is going to have to keep them all in motion in the air (hopefully) without dropping anything. Either I need a clone or I should have had an only child. A little Star Trek technology would go a long way too – I could really use a transporter room with the ability to “beam” family members in a split second to wherever they need to go.

Luckily for me, this kind of juggling is not so much about eye hand coordination as it is about organizational skills. Eye hand coordination is not my strong point (if I were to throw something at one of my children, they wouldn’t even bother to duck), but give me a calendar, six people’s individual schedules, a telephone and 15 minutes on a Sunday night and I can make miracles happen.

After figuring out what I can do with one vehicle and the 24 hours in my day, then I negotiate with my husband and see where he can step in. Next comes the phone calls to call in the subs who cover the inevitable gaps that are left (having the Binghams and Hedricks on speed-dial is the only way we get through soccer season, thanks guys!).

Then its just a matter of working the plan. Both soccer players get to their games that are on the same night, at the same time, in different locations. The ballroom carpool does get dropped off in Provo at 4:00 p.m. and the soccer player makes it to West Jordan in time for his warm-up for a 5:30 p.m. game (well, close enough …). The overseas visitor is met at the airport, one child makes it to her piano lesson with the check to pay the teacher (finally), and another gets picked up for soccer practice. I feel like Hannibal on the A Team: “I love it when a plan comes together!”

It turns out I’m pretty good at juggling. I should add that to my resume. I wonder if Ringling Brothers are hiring …

P.S. I have to share a moment of classic irony with all the other soccer mom's out there -- I published this post this morning and then tonight I forgot to pick Ben up from soccer practice! Oops, dropped the ball on that one ...

The Smell of Tickets is in the Air

2007-10-03T10:43:00.001-07:00

By David G. Woolley

Note: Though Coach Woolley is not a regular contributor to Rangers at the Far Post, his guest submission is timely since so many in our Club and in Utah in general will be turning their attention to the LDS general conference this weekend. Thanks for your submission coach. We hope your sign works for you this year.

I'm a long time conference sign holder. I invented the sport. When I started holding signs that read "Hungry for Conference Tickets" the only other sign holders were hunkered down behind police barriers in the free speech zones. They were dressed in jeans and a black T shirt. I wore a white shirt and tie, didn't call anyone to repentance and church security allowed me free reign on church property to scare up some tickets. I got so good that between the parking lot and the front doors of the Conference Center I collected enough tickets for half the souls in the standby line none of whom had a clue about the art of sign holding.

These days us ticket sign holders outnumber the free speech sign holders ten to one and the new arrivals are getting more creative every year. Last conference I didn't even bother to compete on the same street corner with the three 18.9 year-old sign holders begging for tickets with their poverty plea angle written in pencil lead script on notebook paper with a sappy, tug on the heart-strings sign "Drove from California all night. Leaving on mission next week. Please give us tickets." As if all the new competition isn't bad enough, the no-sign-holder-for-tickets-allowed-on-church-property policy is sure to drive an experienced scalper to the Stake President for a handout. It's comforting to think that someone on temple square is thinking of us even if they're the ones with the high-tech communications devices hidden inside the ear canal. Can't they give a tithe-paying regular guy a break? There's simply no such thing as an easy ticket anymore.

Last conference the *do-you-have-an-extra-ticket sign holders hung out on the *street-corner-free-speech-zone with the *you're-going-to-hell sign holders. *(an asterisk is, once again, an excellent word choice to let you know that the topic for my next post is The-Incorrect-Use-of-Hyphens-in-All-Their-Glory).

It was during April Conference 2007 when I found myself (not figuratively or spiritually or even ecumenically, but physically found myself standing next to one of the unhyphenated, really big, yellow with plasticized rain protection, professional quality sign holders). He had a 12 x 14 3mm card stock double reinforced mortar board with felt backing. I had a sheet of typing paper. He had 132 point font Times New Roman. I had magic marker font. He had a ten foot pole with a shoulder harness. I held mine between my fingers. The light was red. The corner was crowded with hundreds of conference goers waiting to cross. I lifted my pathetic sign and asked my unhyphenated-go-to-hell-sign-holder-neighbor if he had any tickets he wanted to unload. He shook his head no before calling the crowd to repentance.

I lifted my sign higher and said, "You sure?"

He said, "The only ticket in there is a ticket to hell."

I said, "I'll take four."

Getting into conference is easier than getting into the Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas Concert. Its also easier to pull your bottom lip over your eyes. It may be because they don't televise it (the Christmas concert, not the lip pulling). I think its because Craig Jessop gave all my unhyphenated friends complimentary tickets. This year I plan on calling more conference goers to repentance.

Two Christmas concerts ago some of us die hard choir aficionados slept out in front of door #14 at the Conference Center on a snowy October evening to beat the Internet ticket rush and get front row seats. Craig Jessop told the choir about the ardent fans waiting all night in the snow. That was us. The men with the cool listening devices didn't kick us off Conference Center property. They figured the snow would do that, but we persevered. The following year church security changed the distribution policy. I like to think I had a part in forming the new rules. Internet ticket requests only. I also like to tell people I invented it (the Internet not the ticket policy). I think the new rules reflect a fear that the line for Christmas concert tickets is going to form weeks before the conference standby line.

Last October I opened ten windows to the Internet, pointed five other computers at the church website and when the appointed Christmas concert ticket request hour arrived all I got were four hours worth of "Due to high volume, we are unable to process your request at this time."

This year, despite the anti-gambling sentiment among ticket distribution personnel, concert tickets will be awarded by lottery. Beginning October 22nd the church website accepts requests. Two weeks later, after sign ups close, a random drawing awards lucky concert goers with tickets. I have a friend who always gets lucky. Three mouse clicks and she has her tickets. Hundreds of thousands of mouse clicks and I have no tickets. Do you think a lottery is going to change my luck? I'll likely get front row seats in gambler's hell next to my unhyphenated-yellow-sign-holding buddy before I ever get into the Conference Center balcony seating. My only regret is that my unhyphenated friend will be calling me to repentance for eternity.

I purchased an encryption code-breaking program. I can print unlimited tickets for any seat in the house and email them to everyone in my distribution list. If you happen to see one of those men with a cool listening device hidden inside the ear canal hauling a 5 foot 9, 160 pound, dark complected male out of the Conference Center holding a crumpled sheet of typing paper that reads, "Will Work For Tickets", don't judge me harshly.

I should have invested in a sign with a ten foot pole!

The Reason

2007-10-01T20:49:00.000-07:00

By Jason Patzke

Yesterday, I sat staring out my eighth floor window at the panoramic view of Lake Tahoe. The impossibly clear blue canvas was interrupted by only the small whitecaps as they swirled in the breeze, and the wakes from the occasional tourist's yacht. Birds soared above the lake, and disappeared into the towering trees that climb up the mountain slopes. The whole setting was nestled into its own private valley, lost to the modern world, an escape from all the pains and stresses that plague our everyday lives. I wish I could say that this James Fenimore Cooperish description of a lake is why I disappeared for a long weekend away. But no, the reason is a lot less noble. In a nutshell:

I AM AN IDIOT.

I spent the weekend at Lake Tahoe because some friends of mine suggested that I try to run the Lake Tahoe Marathon. Since this has been a recent goal of mine, I eagerly accepted the challenge. Please see the phrase above about me being an idiot. The only thing this race had in common with being a marathon was the distance of 26.2 miles. First, there was the weather report. Upper thirties for the low, highs in the sixties, and beautiful clear skies. So what happens on race day? One and a half inches of snow, and a seven mile start to the race on a bike path covered with ice.

Next came the hills. Excuse me. Mountains. Ten miles of rolling hills that led to a monster. The race people called it affectionately Hell Hill. 1.8 miles up the steepest slope I swear I have ever seen. (Picture running the 400 North hill approximately 30 times. Now imagine doing it after running fifteen miles). That is not an exaggeration. It never ended. And afterwards, more hills were lying in wait. All of those tuesday and wednesday morning runs up South Fork Road in Provo Canyon: Molehills.

So here is the pressing question. Can I claim to have "run" a marathon when I labored through the first 20 miles, walked miles 21 and 22, crawled on hands and knees through miles 23 and 24, and paid the local wildlife to carry me home over the last two miles? (Special thanks to Larry the squirrel; nobody can organize rodents like that little critter did that day). So how about it, you panel of experts, what is the verdict?

On the subject of finishing, there is no truth to the rumor that I was beaten by three snails. To be fair, the first two did beat me, but in my defense they were pretty agile. Don't believe what the third snail is claiming. I clearly fell forward with at least half my arm over the line before he crossed. This is horse racing, not soccer. I only needed to beat him by a nose. The real question is why was he sprinting those last twelve inches with everything he had left? Didn't he realize that this race was being run for personal fulfillment, and not as a competition. Of course, he claimed that he was just catching his second wind, but I know he was trying to pass me. I had to risk personal injury to hold him at bay.

Wow. I bet you didn't realize that overdosing on Tylenol and Advil at the same time produced such hallucinatory effects. I sure didn't see it coming.

Now I need to decide whether or not I have fulfilled my ambition to complete a marathon, or do I have to go through the agony all over again. At least, if I decide to run again, it will be with half a brain (that's all I have left) and run on a flat surface. Maybe I should have noticed that there were only 518 entrants for a marathon that you would think could draw thousands based on the setting alone.

Of course, the real moment of dread came on the bus at six am as it drove us out to the starting point. The runner on the seat next to me laughed out loud when I told him it was my first marathon. He said he was only here to "jog it" because it was going to be much too difficult to run. Oh, and the only reason he was there to run was so that he could officially say that he had now run a marathon in all fifty states. Right about then, even before the race started, it occurred to me for the first time.

I AM AN IDIOT.

Official statistics: I finished 396 out of 422 finishers with a pitiful time of 6:25:52.87. Only one runner finished the race with a time under three hours.

Words to live by:

Burning up
I don't know just how far that I can go
Soon behold
Only just a few miles down the road
And I can make it
I know I can
You broke the boy in me
But you won't break the man.

John Parr
St Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)

The Beautiful Game

2007-09-27T19:38:00.000-07:00

By Ken Jenson

The past few years I have had the pleasure of watching most of my son's soccer games through the lense of a camera. It is a fast game, but when you catch it in a split second, sometimes you see that soccer is a lot more than just a game... it's the 'beautiful game'.

My blog will be a short one this week. Hopefully my pictures will speak a thousand words.

Sometimes they go up!

Sometimes they go down!

Sometimes they just drill it!

Sometimes they score!

Sometimes they just take the ball away..

Sometimes it's 'high karate!'

And sometimes it's just plain dirty!

Whatever soccer is. I love it! As a long time Ranger dad I am proud to have my sons be part of this club. Dave has set a standard that is unmatched in the state of Utah. No matter how busy life gets, it's always exciting to come out and root for the Rangers.

I'll leave you with a pic of the moon rising over the wasatch mountains after last Monday's game.

Go Rangers!

Inspiring Play From 90 & 93 Premier

2007-09-26T20:48:00.000-07:00

By Brian Hardman

This short and to the point blog is more like a congratulations to the 93s and 90s who in the last week both had great come-back victories.

Even though I would like to take a li'l bit of credit for two inspiring half time speeches - close to what William Wallace says in Braveheart - it was really the excellent play and the increased second-half work rate and intensity of our boys that earned the victories.

A week ago Monday, the 93s found themselves down 5-1 at half time. Something had to change and thankfully the whole team stepped up their play, put pressure all over the field, technically and tactically played brilliant, and the 93s were able to put in five second-half goals for a 6-5 win. The result was impressive, but not nearly as important as the realization that the 93s have the will to step it up and take charge in a must-win game.

Monday afternoon the 90s were down 2-0 in the second half against a physical team with the added disadvantage of a very quiet referee--he wasn't going to whistle them the ball back very often. Our backline shut the opposing attack down and frustrated them to the point where the opposing players were yelling at each other. Our Midfielders held possession and gave the front runners a plethora of scoring chances. The forwards made brilliant runs that left the opposing team in desperation. With eight minutes to go we knocked in the winning goal for a 3-2 come-from-behind victory.

So instead of anything resembling an intelligent blog, I decided to let everyone know - or at least the few who actually read these - about the inspiring play of the 90 and 93 Premier teams.

Well done boys. You get a big congratulations from the entire club!

Don't Ruin the Games

2007-09-25T13:18:00.000-07:00

By Alex Madsen

I have found it frustrating to play soccer at times. Often what irritates me is wet grass, long grass, short fields, skinny fields...the list is endless. What irritates me the most however, by a long shot, is parents who incessantly banter to the officials on every call, and then wonder why their team isn't playing well.

I seriously wonder what goes through the mind of some of our parents before the game. First of all, the way they act leads me to believe they expect every single call to be for their team. I've played in games recently where every time the whistle blew, our parents were screaming their heads off before the referee could point in a direction.

I believe some parents also have in their heads this illusion that because the man in yellow holds a whistle and wears a badge, he is perfect. Referees are not. I think every once in a while, its necessary for a coach to get on officials and for players to discuss calls with referees. Parents have no part in any of this. When coaches and players start yelling things, it is not a signal or an excuse for parents to lose control.

I firmly believe the more parents yell, the less focused players become on the field. The game itself causes enough frustration for players. They do not need added support to forget the technical things and start worrying about the job of the referee.

The one that cracks me up the most is "Get control of the game ref!" I've never met anybody who works better with someone yelling in their ear. I find it ironic that the parents who plea for officials to get the game under control are the cause of the problem. I've seen so many games get out of hand because parents can't shut their mouths. They yell louder, refs get worse, and they keep yelling louder.

Aside from making games impossible to play, rambunctious parents do a fantastic job of embarrassing themselves, their children, and the club. Do some of us need to go back to preschool? "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all, okay children?" Besides, we can yell for ourselves.

The Order To Write

2007-09-24T23:11:00.000-07:00

By Jason Patzke

It all started last Wednesday. That was the day that Dave ordered me to start writing my next entry for his little weekly foray into other people's thoughts. Has anyone else wondered why he does not contribute to this madness? And what does he mean by writing an entry in advance? Doesn't he realize that these entries are entirely off the cuff, and at the mercy of any whim that might pop into my brain at the time I am attacking this keyboard?

Speaking of the time, has anyone also noticed the post times for any of my entries? This one is around 12:30 am. It might be the earliest one yet. This is not because I am a night owl. Far from it, in fact. This is because I suffer from a lack of ideas, or inspiration to write about, and am counting on the euphoria encompassing my exhausted brain to come up with any ounce of creativity. In lieu of that, I will take any incoherent jibberish that flows forth from the same euphoria.

The last thing I want to do is put forth information supported by facts and figures. For Pete's sake, someone might actually do some research, and realize that the facts I submitted came from an exhausted mind with no interest in accuracy. That is something I think I shall avoid.

So here I sit, staring at a blank computer screen in the middle of the night, and still grasping for that spur of the moment idea. Wait a minute, where did all of these words come from? Have I been typing all of these thoughts? This stream of consciousness thing is kind of neat. Just keep typing and see what comes of it.

Wait a minute. I see a light. Could it be an idea? Why is it flickering? Why won't it remain still? Dang it, it can't be. Not another lightning bug. They always seem to come out at night. I can see it wafting away in the distance. Wait a minute. What if that was a legitimate idea? Am I letting it get away? Come back. Please, come back. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Words to live by:
"Who is the more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?"
Obi Wan Kenobi Star Wars

Soccer and Candybars

2007-09-22T21:45:00.000-07:00

By Greg Jolley

So, I have this tradition that comes by way of my DNA. I have the privilege of working with my dad. He has a great sense of humor and has been a BYU professor for over 30 years now. When I was a student he would start off every class he taught with a comic strip (typically Calvin and Hobbs or a good classic Born Loser or Far Side). I always thought, what a great way to ease the tension/stress/etc. of a rigorous course by making people laugh. I have taken that tradition, as a newer BYU professor, and updated and modernized it by sharing my favorite videos at the beginning of class. The video above is the first one that I show of the semester. It is first for several reasons (although I still do not fully understand the direct relationship between soccer and candybars?). First, I am sure many lovers of the beautiful game would commit similar things to be able to play the game. Second, is there anything better than playing soccer with your brother/sister. Third, candybars really are good.

I had a "fun" experience this week being able to drive up to Roy with a few of the x-league maroon players. While the trip was long (2 hours of traffic - one way) the conversation was enjoyable and reminiscent of my days as a Ranger ('71 Rangers; yea, that is the right year!). Tyler Fowler, Will Clark, and Zach Wells have a strong grasp on life so far. Not remembering exactly what I was thinking at that age, I rediscovered the following: 4th graders a) like all sorts of music (yes Jason, country - can you actually call it? - music), b) have at least two girls, each, that chase them at recess (I am sure that some Rangers coaches wished dating was this simplified! ha-ha), c) spend many hours of free time watching the soccer channels found on cable (I wished I would have known what La Liga meant when I was nine), and d) can be as chatty as a car full of U13 Celtic Storm girls who are regaling their first week of Jr. High. I learned that humor can be found, just like those videos and cartoons, in every aspect of life.

At the end of another long Saturday I found myself having to fulfill a work obligation. Many of you know and participated in "Stadium Cleanup" this summer. The Landscape Management Club at BYU cleans the football stadium at the end of every home game. As I stood side by side with nearly 50 students as we watched soggy peanuts and nacho cheese cascade down the river of ooze (all those that participated in the hosing event this summer know what I am talking about!) a thought came to my mind: this mysterious relationship of Soccer and Candybars. Yes, a very random thought you might think. But, as I picked up the fourth uneaten and unopened candybar from the floor of the stadium seats I thought, "what a waste, why would you buy a candybar for 10 times the price as the "real world" and then not even eat it?" This is a valid statement for somebody who likes candybars but certainly does not like cleaning them up, and has a sense of avoiding wasting money.

So, while you enjoy watching the above video I hope all of you ask the question that I have yet to find an answer to, "What is the connection between candybars and soccer?" The answer might be profound! It might even ease the tension and stress of a busy soccer Saturday. Enjoy!

2007-09-21T20:22:00.000-07:00

Have any of the other bloggers looked at the italicized shortcuts below? Click on more and a new window pops-up giving all the shortcuts including a Hindi transliteration. I never realized that there would be that many people needing that option. If only I knew Hindi then I could blog and no one would know what I was talking about, life would be much easier then.

Ugh! I can't believe I have to blog again. It's as if I am being forced to endure an eternal torment, somewhat similar to the feeling some of the 90,91,92, and 93 premier teams feel at the end of practice during the 70 yard sprints. You finally make it to the end and you know that shortly, about 30 seconds, you have to do the same thing again, and again, and again, and.... I wonder if I am required to blog during the winter.

Yesterday, meaning Thursday, I was on my way to the 97 Select match against Sparta Black at Albion Middle School. Luckily I had been there two or three times already and had an idea on how to get there. As game time was drawing nigh I noticed I barely had 7 players and I then realized the rest of the team was probably lost due to poor street naming or directions from mapquest, yahoo, or google. The problem is, and I realize this now after living in SLC, that Highland drive=2000 East. Around I-80 the road is Highland Drive but as you head south it becomes 2000 East. For those familiar with the I-80 area of Highland Drive, or is it 2000 East, it isn't a problem but as I discovered the first time I drove to Albion Middle School if you fail to turn at Highland Drive, according to the map directions, you end up going towards the canyon that would take you to Snowbird, not a bad trip if that is where you want to be and there is some snow.

By the time you realize that you have missed something in the directions panic begins to overcome you. Is it really possible to misunderstand the two seemingly simple instructions turn left on.....then turn right on.....and will you be able to get the other 7 kids, player passes, referee fees, or equipment to the field before the game starts. Finally you let go of pride and stop at a gas station or call someone who knows what they are doing and say, "I'm lost." Finishing the call and finally making it to the field you realize that was simple but why on earth did the directions say to turn at Highland drive? There was no Highland drive, mapquest is worthless.

My whole point in relating this is to help us realize how much easier it is to find the many fields, pastures, canyons, and battlefields strewn with craters we have to visit. I don't know how the early soccer moms managed to navigate through so many cities and neighborhoods still managing to get the teams to the game on time without the luxury of having turn-by-turn instructions printed out on a sheet of paper. It is a good thing that technology is able to help, even if it does appear worthless at times, so many of us who are unable to navigate using the stars, moon, sun, and moss growing on trees.

The fleeting feelings of relief and accomplishment wash over me as I publish yet another blog and realize it's only one week, 7 days, 168 hours, 10080 minutes, 604800 seconds until I must publish yet another commentary.

Soccer Chair Psychology

2007-09-20T07:59:00.000-07:00

By Francie Jenson

I noticed something in the blogs this past week. I think it had always been there, simmering, hidden beneath the surface, but it was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on … Until I read Suzette’s post. Brave and intelligent woman that she is (qualities common in all Rangers administrators), Suzette honestly admitted her desire to have the most comments.

This left me pondering the whole concept of blogging. Prior to Rangers at the Far Post I’d checked out a few blogs – mostly family members who sent me links to their newly created blogs. I’ll be honest, I did wonder what the motivation to blog was. When pressed about this, the aforementioned family members would tell me that blogging is a great way to keep in touch with family and friends. They post pictures and journal entries and are able to stay connected to loved ones, often despite great physical distances. Okay, I get that. But can’t you do that by writing an e-mail? Blogs are by nature, so much more … public. There’s got to be another motivation.

Here’s my theory: it’s all about the attention. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying there’s a problem with that, I’m just trying to analyse the situation. And Rangers at the Far Post is staffed by bloggers who were invited (perhaps even coerced) into posting here so really we can excuse ourselves from this analysis. Except maybe Dave since he felt the need to create this blog in the first place … hmmm.

But I digress. If the only motivation were the need to express oneself through the written word, then we could do that in the privacy of our own personal records. The fact that we feel compelled to post our writing in a public forum is what speaks to me of the desire for attention. The comments feature of blogging is then central to that need. When someone posts a comment we know they have read our words and we have received the desired attention.

Additionally in a forum like ours, with multiple authors, an element of competition enters in. Just who is it that is receiving the most attention? How can we measure that? Ah, by the number of comments! Here at the Far Post, however, it has quickly become very clear that any sense of competition in this area is just wasted time. Unless your name is Jason … Don’t believe me? Check out the comments!

My Dog Ate My Homework

2007-09-18T19:19:00.000-07:00

By Eric Stephens

Last week as I was preparing my blog late Friday night I fell asleep at my computer and failed to post my blog. As I sat down Saturday I discovered that I lacked the required brain functions required to transpose thought into coherent and meaningful script. I eventually gave up in my attempt to blog and decided Jason Patzke's writer's block was perhaps contagious. My attempts on Sunday proved to be as futile as I failed to conjure up any magical memory or image to portray. Here I sit in front of my computer Tuesday evening trying to finish a blog that one prominent soccer mom seems determined to not let me forget my failure.

When I first started coaching with the Rangers Soccer Club I was amazed at the knowledge and insight that Dave and Jason both had and could share with all of the players. I would watch and listen in amazement as coaching instruction was given during halftime and both Dave and Jason would recall specific events or rattle off a meaningful statistic that was critical in the teams performance and then provide instruction as to the method of correcting error or enhancing the success of the team. I was always relieved to see them at a game.

The idea of having to talk to the teams at half time seemed to be constantly on my mind when I was the only coach. I often found trying to fill five minutes with insightful instruction a never ending battle and I was always pleased to hear the referee's whistle blow to get the attention off of me.

Fortunately for me filling 5 minutes at half time isn't a problem anymore. In fact, I seem to have followed Dave's lead more than Jason's in talking longer than 5 minutes and suffering the intrusion of the official's whistle or nagging voice to get the team on the field so the game can continue. It's a little ironic that I was once one of those nagging officials wondering if Dave would ever stop talking and field a team for the final match.

It's also fun to observe each coach and try to pick out mannerisms that distinguish or identify each coach. With the younger teams Dave has his cone talks at half time about defense and of course promising Cafe Rio to the teams if they win the state cup as a motivator; Jason is often heard telling defenders to clear the ball "Over the Mountains", you really have to be present when Jason says this to see why this stands out and is so identifying because Jason presents it as only Jason can; I don't know about Brian but I'm sure he has some.

Albert Einstein says:
"If at first, the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it"

“You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else.”

Busted... Right in the Chops

2007-09-17T22:01:00.000-07:00

By Jason Patzke

O.K. Here we go again. Another week, another blank screen, and more orders from Dave to write. There has got to be an easier way to get therapy. Sans another topic, I guess I need someone else to pick on. Dave and Eric made such easy victims last week. Who should I pick on this week? Let's flip a coin. Heads. Dang it, that's me. Best two out of three. Dang it, me again.

Believe me, the last thing I want to do is write something personal about myself. But it is not exactly a secret that I do everything alone. I eat, sleep, live, and even travel alone. Yes, I admit it, I am a loner. I basically refer to it as being socially inept, but that is another topic that will never be addressed publicly by me.

I wrote that little tidbit of information to help explain some of my actions. You see, I am a devout listener of country music. Yes, I said country. Is there any other kind of music that actually has words and tells a compelling story? Along with this devotion comes a tendency to attend many concerts. Alone. If I want to see the show, I just go.

Recently, I haven't been able to attend any concerts without running into a prominent Ranger couple. I mean, these two are everywhere. They found me at the Delta Center, The E Center, Scera Amphitheater, and that outdoor amphitheater located just outside of Nome, Alaska. It doesn't matter if I am sitting in the front row, the rafters, or hiding behind the nearest trash receptacle. I, and my paranoia, just know that they will find me. There is no escaping their detection.

Last week, Mrs. X was grilling me about which future concerts I was planning on attending. I basically shot down all of her queries with the excuse of being too busy. And then she hit me with it. She accused me of frequenting the concerts because of the lady singers.

Busted.

I stammered through an awkward response (see socially inept, up top), but I knew she had hit home. I mean, there was a male singer at that Soul II Soul concert at the Delta Center. At least I think there was one. Somebody took the stage after Faith Hill. I'm just not sure that I paid all that much attention to him.

Don't get me wrong. I attend concerts from just about anyone in the country world. But as a single adult male, I say you haven't lived until you witnessed Faith Hill singing "Breathe" from ten feet away (Front row at Caesar's Palace), sat five yards away from Shania Twain as she crooned "The Woman In Me" from a seat in the crowd (Delta Center, both true), or traveled half way around the world to see my favorite, Martina McBride, in concert (Uncasville, Connecticutt, anyone?).

There is just something powerful about a well sung ballad. Especially when they are sung to just me. I am pretty sure there wasn't any else in the crowd. It is amazing what your imagination can do for you. I can't be the only one enthralled by a gorgeous songstress carrying a heart felt tune, but for now, I will sit and listen to it all alone. That is just the way I like it.

Don't worry. I won't let getting busted change me. I will keep on attending concerts. The joy springing forth from a well sung ballad will still reach my ears, and I am sure I will still have the company of a certain Ranger couple to enjoy it with.

Wow. That is about as personal as it will ever get with me. The only thing left is to decide whether to hit the publish button, or to delete ....

Guest Blogger Suzette Sullivan

2007-09-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

Suzette Sullivan is a single mother who works for the Salt Lake City Police Department. On her days off she morphs into a soccer mom and serves as the Executive and Financial administrator for her son Zach's team (90 Premier). Some of you may remember "Coach" James Sullivan who ended his coaching stint in the Rangers Academy last year and is now attending BYU and his skillful side-kick brother Zach (90 & 91 Premier). We are really excited for you to meet the mother behind the boys, our very own Suzette. Though her blog is based on comments she overheard at the soccer field on Saturday, September 15th, she wants to make sure you know she's not nosy, only grateful to know all of you. Thanks for your blog Suzette.

Did They Really Say That?
By Suzette Sullivan

...They sure did!

I overheard the comments of visiting parents at the Ranger field this afternoon and I just have to share them with you.

"Wow! Look at this field. It's awesome. I wonder who does that for them. We need to find out. Our grass is so long. No one mows it. And it seems the only time they water it is on game day."

"Yeah and look at how well marked they are."

"These are really nice fields."

"As we have watched these older boys play, have you listened to their language? No one is cussing."

"We were greeted by representatives of their club when we arrived, were you? Everyone has been so nice."

"Their coach even told us where we could warm up and he greeted our boys."

"What is with the parents, they aren't yelling at the refs and they are encouraging to the players? Is that just because the boys are older or are all the parents like that at this club?"

"Who's moving those goals? Are people assigned to do that?"

"This was such a long drive, but you know what just to have this experience was worth the drive and we haven't even played yet."

Yes, this was the talk I heard from a visiting team today and it wasn't just between two or three people. All the parents on the opposing team who were seated behind us were talking about our club.

I want to thank those who maintain our lawn mower and goals, mow our fields and mark the lines. Financial administrators that keep track of the money and purchases. Coaches that are respectful to others and that train our boys in more ways than just the skill of soccer. Coaches that train older boys that are interested in being coaches to coach. Volunteer coaches on each team that help out when needed. Website designers and helpers that have made a huge difference on getting communication out. Administrators that send out emails to the other teams and let them know where to park and coordinate scheduling, keep track of player passes and money for the referees each game. Our referee coordinator that schedules our referees. Photographers and administrators of fun, that add to the morale of things. Parents that help field marshall the fields, from moving goals to policing traffic. Parents and the positive comments that they make to encourage their sons as well as others on the team. Parents and Players that wash their laundry so we aren't known as the stinky club. Players and the positive way they act on and off the field. Supporters that donate money for scholarships. IHC for allowing us to use the fields. Uniform order person.

There are many others that volunteer their time helping to plan activities, offer homes to host activities, prepare rosters, plan tournaments, chaperone, bring ice water to games, share encouraging words, and carpool. I may be missing someone, but I wanted to let all of you know how much I appreciate what so many do to make our club the greatest place in the world to play youth soccer. (This is your chance to write a comment to my blog, and add your own thanks...okay it's also a way for me to get the most comments :)

I hope to wear my Ranger shirt for a very long time, proud to be a part of the Ranger family win or lose. A win is always awesome, but what they are learning in the process is even more important. I plan to wear my Ranger T after all my boys have graduated from the program in memory of the character traits they developed which they take with them long after they graduate.

Thanks, Dave, for your leadership in developing a great progam. I'm thanking Dave even after one son was rejected 4 times before making the team. They kept trying and learned not to give up--another attribute they will carry with them for years to come.

The way Rangers is set up has allowed my boys and I to make some awesome friends with players and their parents. I could write a book with their names and the wonderful things they've done. How much I appreciate what the staff coaches bring to the program. Dave, Jason, Eric, Greg and Brian have either coached my boys or helped train them to be coaches.

I'm proud my boys can be part of your lives and I want to be like the visitng parents I overheard today and tell you thanks for all your efforts. GO RANGERS...

All of you!

Guest Blogger Lana Parker

2007-09-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

Guest Blogger Lana Parker drives her U13 and Academy sons to Ranger training and games all the way from Salem. Her enthusiasm for her children and for soccer are evident in the way she supports her kids and our club. Recently she volunteered to serve as the Executive Administrator for Nate's team (U13). Thanks for your support Lana and for your blog. Lana asks you to participate in the comments section at the end of her blog and let us know the worst soccer field conditions you've experienced.

Toto, I Have a Feeling We’re Not in Kansas Anymore
By Lana Parker

I live in a small city at the southern end of Utah County. Here recreation sports are a big part of the daily comings and goings of the city. It is a way to come out as a community and enjoy time with our neighbors and friends, as well as letting our children get the benefits of playing with a team.

Our oldest son started recreation soccer at 5 and played for six years. We enjoyed those years, but as many of you know, one of the main drawbacks to recreation soccer is the condition of the fields. For instance, depending on the day of the week you could be playing in turf that is 3” long, or possibly 8” (good luck trying to find your size 4 ball in that, much less kick it).

Just imagine our dismay then, when we arrived at the Ranger’s fields on the first night of U11 tryouts. To see a three tiered, perfectly manicured pitch and sidelines was beyond belief. Not only that, but there were no divots, mud holes, broken sprinkler heads, or sand traps anywhere in sight. And, upon close inspection you could see that the area had recently been aerated.

With great excitement we regaled our friends, family, and neighbors with descriptions of the Ranger’s home turf. You would have thought we were describing one of the Seven Wonders of the World. In the end a few of our friends made the journey from south Utah County to see this wonder up in Orem, and they were in turn duly impressed. In fact, it started a short-lived movement…they carted their own walk behind lawn mowers over to our city fields and mowed them prior to their own games. (Like I said, it was short-lived- it only took them once to realize they had the wrong equipment for such an enormous job.)

Now that we have been a few seasons with the Rangers, we understand how spoiled we are. We see the dedication and drive (need I say compulsion?) that results in a perfect pitch; and when you see perfection it is easier to point out the imperfections in other fields. Of course, some fields are more memorable than others, but there is one that really sticks out in my mind.

Imagine a field (I will leave it unnamed, but I will say that it was in a city starting with “R” and ending with “y”; just North of Clearfield and a little South of Ogden), with a five inch deep mud pit directly in front of the goal that extended almost the entire length of the goal. As parents we looked at that mud pit and knew that something needed to be done. Someone came up with the idea to fill in the pit with sand from the nearby playground. Unfortunately none of us thought to bring a shovel or wheelbarrow to the game…so we had to get creative. We pulled garbage cans from the bathrooms, Frisbees from the cars, and anything else we could scrounge up. We started our own bucket brigade and tried to fill in the mud pit just minutes before the game started. In the end it wasn’t enough. After all our hard work we lost 0-1 on a penalty kick.

We know that we have the best, but what are some of the worst you’ve seen? What stories do you have of less than ideal fields you or your children have played on? I think I’ve seen some pretty bad ones, but maybe you’ve seen worse.

Sabado Gigante (Huge Saturday)

2007-09-15T22:29:00.000-07:00

By Greg Jolley

It's the end of another Saturday. One of the greatest days ever invented for a few reasons. No school, cartoons in the morning (for those of you that did not grow up with 20 cartoon channels on cable), the morning newspaper, relaxing evenings, Saturday Night Fever, Saturday's Warriors, the Lawrence Welk Show, Sabado Gigante and the greatest of all...........soccer matches. I have distinct memories of Saturday's as a young player. Many can relate to the feeling of waking up in the morning and be so nervous/excited/tense/etc. about something that you could not eat or think or concentrate. Sunday through Friday it was not a problem putting down that bowl of cereal or eating mom's pancakes, but somehow on Saturday the stomach could not take it. A few bites and I was through!

This morning was no different. The Jolley home was up by 6:00 am as TJ's (as her friends call her, Taylor Ann when we lose our patience with her) match began at 8:30 am in West Jordan. Thank heavens for carpooling. Mom had to pick up Cade (96 Rangers Premier) from a Scout overnighter in Provo Canyon so he could be to his match in Bountiful by 10:30 am. Chelsea (Soccer Mom) managed to wrestle him away from 10 stinky friends in time to get to that 8:30 match in WJ. Sometimes we wished that Bountiful and WJ were a little closer, but somehow geography does not agree with soccer matches (on Saturday's especially). Now this does not sound too complex, but we are getting only half the story.

J is the Eddie Murphy of the Jolley home (for those that know this funny kid). The most famous J story to date was about a year ago. It was a typical day at the IHC fields and I was running a training session with the U11 team on the Academy fields. Of course there were two matches happening on the regulation fields. J was "helping" dad coach, but tended to lose focus every once in a while. He wandered away from the field, but I figured he was somewhere building a pyramid out of cones, kicking soccer balls against the fence, or stealing the tennis shoes from his favorite Academy coach (usually James, Kyle, Riley, Scotty, or Steve) and throwing them over the fence. After a half hour of not seeing him and being a responsible father (ha-ha) I decided I better go out and look for him. He couldn't be far, could he? After 10 or 15 minutes of looking panic set in. I walked past the south side of the south fields to return to see if he was back at the Academy fields I heard a voice as if from heaven, "Dad, Dad, Dad"; it was soft and I sensed a bit of fear. I still could not see him. I passed the running path and there he was, stuck in, of all places, a tree. He had succeeded in getting up the tree, but for some reason was unable to get back down (I thought about asking a cat how this could happen, but figured they would not know either!). He had been sitting up in that tree for 45 minutes, but was too afraid to ask the nearly 30 adults watching the match 10 feet from him if they could help him down!

Back to Sabado Gigante......Billie (our 5 year old red-headed terror) and J find ourselves on the mower at IHC at 8:00 am. Knee surgery has made me lazy this year (like I need an excuse). We have perfected the science of putting up 16 corner flags, unlocking 8 goals, preparing the fields for 100 kids, hauling a table, 10 balls, and a bag of whistles, pennies, and the like without crashing the mower and having to go to the hospital (right Dave!). We figure J needs about 30 more pounds to fully put the corner flags into the ground; Billie needs to be less sweet as I enjoy holding her on my lap as we circle the fields. The Academy games come and go as the future of Rangers Soccer continues to look bright. Parent's are cheering, Ecalano's are scoring, Hardman's are watching the beginning of another eight year stint (which makes 24 years as Rangers), and Balser's are wondering when that darn Keven is going to start picking on kids his own size (he tends to flatten those much bigger than him). Academy ended around 10:30 this morning when I picked up approximately 3 jersey's left on the field (yes that is right you irresponsible parents - I have never lost anything on that field!). We are off to the Orem Lakeside complex about the same time we receive the call that TJ's team has won! They have had a rough start to the season and needed a win.

Our youngest daughter, Billie, believes her Pink Panthers U6 team is one of the top sides in all of Utah County. That would explain why there are no parking spots at the Lakside soccer complex. Billie believes the driver of every car in the lot came to see her. She stuffs her mouth with three pieces of Hubba Bubba and she's off. We know the result before the game even kicks off: Pink Panthers 10; Orange Crush 12,000 (11,999 scored by Gabby (orange crush); she is amazing, like Jacob Ence (97 Rangers Premier) and Parker Hedrick (97 Rangers Premier) put together in a five year old girls body!). I have it on good authority that nearly 70 cartwheels were performed in the match along with an uncountable number of hugs. Billie's best friend from school was on the opposing team; as Cosette ran past her and scored a goal, she obviously felt guilt. She turns and gives Billie a hug and promises her she will be invited to her Birthday Party next month. The Pink Panther's are happy even though the after-game-snack does not show up. As we leave we get the call: Cade's team (96 Rangers Premier) has just won and they are on the way home.

They arrive at 1:00 as I head out the door to the x-league match. The 98 white team fights a strong battle for about 20 minutes of the game: it does not help that evidently there is a ban on the use of lawnmowers, there is not a line-painting machine in the county, and that Murray Max does not know the difference between a foot and a yard as the penalty box is bigger than a regulation field and the goals are larger than full-sized adult goals. The opposing team isn't bothered by the extra large goals since we boot the magnetized ball a hundred times right at the large magnet-of-a-goalkeeper.

As I arrive home at about 5 pm Chelsea and I decide that the place we need to be is at the California Pizza Kitchen away from our day of soccer. Super Sabado is over and we are ready to spend time together, away from the kids resting at Grandpa and Grandmas. We will catch up on our relationship, we say; we will focus on us, we say; all good intentions. Funny thing, our conversation kept turning back to: TJ's excitement, Cade's successes and failures as GK, J's antics on and off the field, the number of cartwheels Billie had turned as compared to the number of goals she scored.

Sometimes it is hard to escape Sabado Gigante, even with the best intentions. Know what? We would not have it any other way. We think things will get more simple when the kid's are grown and out of the house and we can go back to Saturday yard work. As we pick up the kid's from Grandpa and Grandma Jolley we glance at the calendar on the fridge. The little square representing September 15th is overflowing with 13 grandkids' matches stretching from 8:30 am to 4:30 pm; spanning from Provo to Ogden. That's when it dawned on us.

Sabado Gigante may never end!

Guest Blogger Laura Morrin

2007-09-13T11:32:00.000-07:00

Laura Morrin is the administrator for the Rangers Academy. Somehow she manages to keep track of one hundred and one U8, U9 and U10 Dalmations (soccer academy boys) and not lose her sanity. Laura moved with her family from California to Utah last Spring and we were lucky they landed on our soccer field with sons Ryan (U13 Premier 95) and Daniel (U10 Academy 98). Laura cares deeply about providing an excellent soccer experience for her own children and for your sons. Thanks for the guest blog Laura.

Why I Love Soccer
By Laura Morrin

Our family has been blessed to be involved with soccer in four states. My son Ryan (95 Premier) loves the sport. He's loved it from the moment he kicked a ball in his four-year-old bunch-ball match. This summer when a broken arm sidelined him the only thing that kept him sane was 4:30 am English league play on cable.

I have the blessing to be part of the Rangers program in the capacity of a worker bee in the Academy. I love it. My job has allowed me to see more closely the high quality character traits of the coaches on staff and it reminds me of why we were drawn to the club in the first place. When we moved here a coach in California encouraged us to join another club. Fortunately, the Rangers answered the phone first and the rest is history. We recently had an opportunity to play the "other" club and the first words out of my son's mouth were, "I'm so glad I'm a Ranger."

We couldn't think of a better place to put time and effort than on the soccer field associated with the Rangers coaching staff, the players and their wonderful parents. Our sons are not only learning to be talented soccer players, develop strength, build endurance, and learn teamwork, they are becoming aware that life is not just about them. I am amazed at the young men who coach my son Daniel (U10 Academy 98) and the other 109 boys in the Academy. They smile, they believe in the boys, they are amazing. And the academy staff has learned a good share of their attitudes toward coaching from the older staff coaches.

Our family has grown to love the Rangers because it helps our sons become better players, better citizens, and more well-adjusted human beings who serve and make the world a better place. Soccer is helping me parent my sons and I trust the Rangers as a place where I can count on life-lessons unfolding in ways that will benefit my sons—even in a heated match. The Rangers are why I love soccer.

A Reaction to Pain

2007-09-13T07:10:00.000-07:00

By Francie Jenson

Anyone who even vaguely knows me will tell you I don’t do pain well. In fact, my Dad has described me as having a threshold of pain just above a firm handshake. So it isn’t surprising that dealing with a lower back injury this past week has left me grumpy, frustrated and heavily reliant on painkillers.

You may have heard, through the grapevine, that my oldest son’s U17 team has been experiencing some pain lately too. But instead of just being grumpy and frustrated, this team is learning a lot right now about stepping up and keeping commitments, even when times get tough. As much as I hate experiencing pain myself, it has become a distinct pleasure watching this team’s reaction to pain.

You would not believe how these players have stepped up to the challenges placed before them. They are showing an incredible spirit and level of commitment as they learn to play the full 90 minutes of just about every game. They are learning versatility on the field as they step into new positions they haven’t ever played before. They are in a period of compulsory stamina and fitness training (… playing with very few or no subs will do that for you!). The parents on the sideline have noticed they are learning to work together like never before. It’s also been amazing watching each boy play with all his heart and soul because he knows better than ever before how important he is to his team.

The 91’s experiences have caused me to do a lot of thinking about commitment. I firmly believe that you should see through to the end, any activity that you have committed to be involved with. I expect my children to think through all their options before they go to any kind of tryouts and decide what commitments they are willing to make so that when they make them, they really mean something. I don’t want them to learn that when things don’t work out quite the way they expected they can just bail and leave the rest of their team short. I think it is important for them to learn how their seemingly personal decisions have an impact on the people around them.

The boys who remain on this U17 team are demonstrating a tremendous amount of character. They are showing us all what it really means to make and keep a commitment. Even as they struggle now, it is clear that by the end of this season they will be stronger than ever before. They already stand as examples to me that victory isn’t always found in winning – sometimes its found in the way you fight the battle.

Victory Comes After the Struggle

2007-09-12T18:37:00.000-07:00

By Brian Hardman

A couple of quotes from two of my favourite players. First from Mr. Franz Beckenbauer, who said this long before I was playing. I'm not exactly sure how its possible, but it only gets more true as time passes.

Franz Beckenbauer
"The trouble for today's footballers is they have too many distractions. We used to get our old players coming to watch training with football magazines in their hands. Now, more often than not, they are checking the share prices."

None of our boys come to training sessions with business magazines, but we could all do a better job of leaving behind some of the distractions that lower our performance and slow down our progress.

Jose Mourinho
"There's a history made up by each of us, that leads us to that final victory. It's that history, in it's entirety, that turns us into champions."

State Cup is approaching so of course we all have that final victory in mind. In order to win the championship, remember your training, practice it, and win with it on the soccer field and in your lives.

Mr. Madsen in his brilliant Tuesday post informed us of the final victory that took place on September 11th by a group of "champions". They were ready to make their last push for victory after years of training and athletic competition. They never knew their preparation in youth sports would save so many lives, but their training made them heroes.

So remember them, and remember to reach for the best inside of you. Then someday either on the soccer field or off you'll do something that requires courage or determination or reaching beyond what you thought you could do and when you do it, you'll be a champion too.

Writer's Block and the Obsessive Compulsive

2007-09-11T19:55:00.000-07:00

By Jason Patzke

Dave tells me that I have to write something every Monday so that he can post it on this site. The problem is, I seem to have no fresh ideas. Just a blank screen and a lack of inspiration. And then I read the previous posting by one Alex Madsen, and realized any serious posting would pale in comparison and relevance. Kudos to Alex for finding inspiration from a truly tragic situation. The only way to properly follow greatness would be to abstain, but I ran into a snag.

It seems Eric Stephens checked the blog site five times yesterday, presumably to find some words of wisdom from me. Whatever led him to believe I could help him out from his obsessive compulsive nature is beyond me. Today he inventoried our equipment, and it nearly threw him for a loop when I tried to bag up some balls following training. It seems that I had pulled some balls from the pile that had been scuffed up from hitting the post too often, and mixed them with the balls that still had grass stains. I won't even mention what happened when I tried to help out with the pennies. Believe me, I won't make that mistake again. This behavior clearly demonstrates why he and Dave seem to belong on the same soccer pitch.

Dave is infamous for this type of insane behavior. You see, he tends to maintain a spotless home. There was a time when I would stop by his place to give him a ride to the airport and wait for him to leave the room, and then secretly move a piece of furniture no more than one or two inches. He would invariably return, go straight to the misplaced object, and move it back. How he knew what I had moved was beyond me. But in between my bursts of laughter, he would explain that he had lanes for his vacuum cleaner, and that they could not be disturbed. Yes, Dave and Eric, two birds with very similar feathers. Loons, I believe. So there it is. Another posting without saying anything at all. But, I do need to check and see if anyone is reading this.

The assignment given to everyone who reads this post is this: You all need to approach Dave this week, and ask him exactly what inspired Weston Hafen, a Ranger from almost a decade ago, to proclaim "I can't trust you Dave, I know that now!" while on a long van trip before playing a match in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Canada. Let's just see how crazy we can drive him with this bombardment. Remember, accept only the truth. Don't let Dave talk his way out of this one.

Words to live by: You can chase a dream That seems so out of reach And you know it might not ever come your way Dream it anyway Anyway~ Martina McBride

Sports are Priceless

2007-09-11T12:17:00.000-07:00

By Alex Madsen

I wasn't going to write anything today because I thought those memorial videos were more than adequate. Then I remembered a collection of biographies compiled by Brian Kilmeade titled The Games Do Count, which I read a few years ago. The book has four segments on four of the men who helped overtake Flight 93. The memorials given are all based on how playing sports in their youth developed heroic attributes.

After the World Trade Center had been hit on September 11, 2001, Flight 93 was also hijacked and was en route to crash into the White House. Many of the passengers on board devised a plan, and together overtook the cockpit and crashed the plane safely into the Pennsylvania ground. This killed the passengers on board, and spared another landmark terrorist attack.

Overtaking armed terrorists grouped together in a cockpit would be no easy task. All the men who participated were not ordinary men. Many of them were molded by childhood sports and leadership experiences.

One particular man (and the confirmed leader by government released phone tapes) mentioned is Tom Burnett. As told by his surviving wife, Tom played quarterback in high school and college, and he loved being the team leader and calling the plays. While talking to Tom on the phone from the plane, his wife said he was calm and collected, answering questions with concision and relaying information about what was going on. All of this must have been nearly identical to the countless huddles he directed years ago in his playing days.

Excerpt, his wife writing: "I also know that he was the one that put the plan together to storm the cockpit. He told me that that's what he was doing. I knew he wasn't going to do it by himself--I knew him better than that--so my question to him was, "Who's going to help you?"
"There's a group of us." He said." -Clearly Tom learned in his lessons from sports the value of teamwork.

Excerpt: "I think the virtues Tom possessed that enabled him to do what he did on Flight 93 were instilled in him by his parents. They were certainly shaped by sports and the leadership roles that he took as a child and young adult. His leadership skills were developed over a number of years.
Tom felt so strongly about his participation in team sports that he was insistent that our children choose a sport very early on in life, so that they would have the same benefit that he had had."

For one thing, this account reminds me that there are so many good people in America. People like Tom who love their neighbors and just want to do the right thing. I am not finished playing sports yet, but I'm getting close, and I think the lessons learned will be priceless someday. They may not save lives in a direct way, but hopefully they will make me a better person. Props and thanks to Dave, Jason and the crew who give of their time to make us better people.

September 11th Memorial

2007-09-11T09:11:00.000-07:00

In remembrance of the victims of the September 11th attack on the United States we have posted the video memorials on the right-hand side bar for you to view. Please take a moment to remember those who lost their lives, soldiers who are now defending freedom with their lives and the families of all Americans whose lives have been harmed by the atrocitites of terrorism and the ugly hand of those who perpetrate evil. May God bless America in our struggle for freedom across the world.

AAHHHHHHH, The Smell of Grass

2007-09-08T19:48:00.000-07:00

By Greg Jolley

There are many reasons why we do the things we do in this life. It is full of decisions that can be difficult or easy, right or wrong, transparent or hidden, black or white. I have discovered one thing that helps to bring more clarity to those decisions. It is the SMELL of grass!!! Now, you may say, "Greg, this makes no sense! How can something so trivial, small, and so unimportant be the solution for so many questions?" Soccer and grass (otherwise known as turf in the halls of my office) are intertwined more than you know.

As my family moved back to Utah Valley exactly four years ago, there was excitement to think that our children would be able to experience the same things that Chelsea and I had growing up. When we bought a home in a neighborhood adjacent to our high school we immediately began teaching our kids the Mountain View fight song (yes the two oldest know it and they are in 6th and 7th grade), showing them our old hang outs, and letting them experience some of those things we did as youth. Little did we know that we would be thrown into the middle of the whirlwind that is the Utah Rangers. I have known Dave since I was approximately three years old (I have been told he was a good babysitter; I did not die in his care), and when he approached me about this thing called the "Academy" I thought, well maybe. I have not regretted being caught up in the whirlwind and one of those things I enjoy the most about being tossed around is that once a week experience of being bound on the mower; that Grasshopper of a mower.

Monday morning before the week starts I have two hours of clarity. That sweet aroma stimulates my brain; maybe that is why I do what I do for a living. I think about everything from what my family needs, to my church calling; the next training session for those wonderful "little dudes"; how can we make the Academy even better; why Dave still does what he does (he was the coach of my Rangers team ('71 Rangers!!!); what is best for the Landscape Management students; what trip I am going on next; how are we going to juggle futsal and Chelsea's passion for coaching basketball (yes, the MV Sophomore girls are in good hands!); and of course is there a more beautiful field than IHC? Somehow the smell of turf brings out the answers to all of these questions. It inspires and brings clarity to my mind. Suddenly, something that seems complicated becomes simple; something that seems to have no solution suddenly does.

Whether it is the grass I do not know. I am positive it may be other things bringing clarity to my mind. But, I do like to think that that thing called turf, grass, poa pratensis, grama, whatever; has something to do with it also. Otherwise, how could I justify two hours of this at the beginning of every week. Cade (Rangers '96), our oldest son, is a goal keeper, and he permanently wears a green stain of grass on his knees from March to November. A reminder of the green stuff I suspect. After practice we often times stay after on those wonderful fields and kick around for a bit; I expect this is what it is all about, the simple things. Somehow things don't seem so clear in January!

A Soccer Brief

2007-09-07T12:52:00.000-07:00

I was approached by a friend once who said, "If you would eliminate the goalkeeper and make the goals larger then soccer would become popular." It appears that the beauty of soccer eludes many americans, who are so accustomed to seeing high scoring football and basketball games, that they miss the excitement as your team breaks through the opposing defence to score the only goal of the match in the final minutes of stoppage time. There is also the agonizing feeling of losing when your team has many excellent scoring chances and yet fails to put anything in the back of the net while the opposing team has only one or two chances and puts both in. Perhaps if we returned to the origins of soccer we would find a larger contingent of supporters.

The history of soccer can be traced back thousands of years. The Chinese had an army training exercise that resembled soccer, in Mexico after a battle they would chop off their enemies head and use it as a soccer ball, the Aztec and Mayan nations had soccer teams that would compete against each other and the captain of the winning team was sacrificed after the game. In Britain, the home of modern day soccer, matches, commonly called 'mob football', were played by entire villages through streets, across fields, hedges, fences and streams. The matches were disorganized and violent, kicking was allowed, in fact so was everything else except murder and manslaughter.

There were several prominent men and women that opposed soccer, due to it's violent and chaotic nature, and tried to make participation punishable by law. Kings Edward III, Richard II, Henry IV and Henry V all made the game punishable by law along with all of the 15th century kings of Scotland. The Puritans even deemed it as 'frivolous amusement' and condemned it for violating the Sabbath. Fortunately for us the enthusiasm of the common folk for the sport and others such as Richard Mulcaster who supported the sport for it's promotion of health and strength.

Finally in 1863 the first rules governing the sport were established and modern soccer was born.

Evolution of a soccer mom

2007-09-05T21:50:00.000-07:00

You know, you’re born, you have a carefree childhood, you do well in school and spend your teenage and young adult years developing a sense of self-worth and an idea of who you are, and then one day you wake up to find you’re a soccer mom. How did that happen? And what is that anyway?

According to Wikipedia the term ‘soccer mom’ refers broadly to stay-at-home moms with school aged children. Apparently all soccer moms drive SUV’s, have cell-phones and have no other responsibilities other than transporting their children. It was at about this point that I became largely unimpressed with that particular on-line encyclopedia entry …

I can honestly say I didn’t have any childhood aspirations to grow up and be a soccer mom. For me it all started with a husband who loves sports. Only he’d never played soccer so when our kids were small we played catch, and we batted off a tee, went to gymnastics classes and swung golf clubs and tennis racquets – but we didn’t kick! It wasn’t until our oldest son started school and spent all his recess and lunch time kicking a ball around with his mates, that soccer became an everyday word in our house.

Then comes the surprising news from the other dads who know more about soccer, that hey, your kid is a great soccer player! Really? Who knew? And that’s when it happens. When your child is good at something, you develop a desire to be involved in order to help provide an environment for them to increase their skills. It might be soccer, or gymnastics, or drama (just hopefully not all of them at once …) – it really doesn’t matter, you support them however you can as they develop their talents. So you volunteer to be the team mom, you pay for the expensive uniform or the headshots, and you sit on the sidelines and cheer and hope that one day you might actually understand the offsides rule. And yes, you do have to drive them around, at least until they’re old enough to drive themselves.

Soccer mom then, is one dimension of who I am. I’ll take the title. It can balance somewhere in that sometimes precarious stack of other hats I also wear: wife, mother, homemaker, church youth leader, daughter, sister, friend. Soccer mom fits in there well – even without an SUV ...

To Blog

2007-09-04T23:44:00.000-07:00

To blog, or not to blog, that is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or by opposing, end them. Yes, that groan you just heard came from the grave of one William Shakespeare. He has my apologies for any inaccuracies, but in my defense it is currently 12:41 in the a.m.

The real question here is why would David Grant Woolley ask someone who has no regard for modern technology to take the time to actually sit down and type on a computer? Doesn't he realize that the only reason I agreed to this torturous activity was to get Dave to hang up and get me off the cell phone? See, more technology invading my life. I just can't seem to escape it. Whatever happened to the tin cans and a taut wire? Now that was a time I could thrive in.

After we get past the technology issues, we then need to address the concept of the fiercely guarded opinion. Hasn't anyone out there noticed that I never say anything? That's right. I am not exactly Mister Chatty. I spend a lot of time and effort trying to keep most of my opinions to myself, and now Dave wants me to actually put them in writing. For all I know, he probably thinks this will be therapeutic.

For now, I am going to stick with the concept of torture. The physical pain of cramping fingers, and the mental anguish from this interminable case of writer's block are a direct result of this late night battle with this computer keyboard. Right now, I am not sure who is winning, but I know the pain is there. All of this leads to the final question of the night. Do I continue to blog, or do I cease?

Words to live by: If you give up your dream, you die.

Love The Game! You're Lucky to be a Part of It

2007-09-04T21:33:00.000-07:00

Now this may be a li'l touchy and emotional, especially for my blogging debut, but with the passing of my Grandfather this week, it's what came to mind.

Depending on who you ask, coaching could be the best job ever. Others would say playing is better. I've been lucky enough to do both, and what I've enjoyed even more is the opportunity to play for David Woolley and Jason Patzke, and now coach along side them and the rest of the staff.

Whether you're a player, fan, parent or coach, love what you do, because you don't know what tomorrow brings. Play the game because you love it and because you may not have this opportunity in the future. Take advantage of what you have--great coaches, competitive teams, nice fields, etc.--things that others may not have. And most importantly play every game like it's a championship, like it is your last game, and when you look back--whether it be yesterday or ten years ago--you will know you played the sport like it was supposed to be played. With Greatness.

I love the game. It has done more for me than I have done for it. I would give anything to be out on the field playing, but now I'm coaching, and I'm loving every minute of it.

And as State Cup approaches I have one request: Find it in yourself to play with greatness.

Be Grateful RSL fans

2007-09-04T13:24:00.000-07:00

In 2005, Salt Lake became home to an MLS expansion franchise which has yet to live up to any expectations. No matter how hard those Loyalists fans beat their drums and blow their horns, Real Salt Lake cannot seem to find a rhythm. Despite all the spirit and attention, our home town heroes have only won 19 games to date. Relax. All of this is Ok. We are the fortunate ones. Be thankful that every time we say our pro team's name, it does not call remembrance to a horrible natural disaster.

The Chicago Fire expansion team joined Major League Soccer in 1998 and despite being given such a terrifying name finished second in the western division. The historical Chicago Fire occurred in October of 1871 when-as legend has it- a cow in someone's barn kicked over a forgotten lantern and started a fire. The flames spread across 4 acres of central Chicago killing 250 people, and leaving 90,000 homeless. Maybe if we would have named our pro soccer team after the 1999 Salt Lake tornado, we would have at least made it to the playoffs.

MLS teams with disastrous names does not end in Chicago. Many of you might remember Landon Donovan's old team, now the Houston Dynamo, they used to be the Earthquakes of San Jose. To Californians, earthquakes are a common thing, so I suppose their team name wasn't as blatant as Chicago's, and they had the presence of mind to change it.

After the Chicago Fire of 1871, the city experienced positive growth and development. As with any disaster, people learn things and move on. While Real's name has nothing special except that it copies the real deal from Spain, lets hope our team itself, the red, gold and blue, does not turn into a disaster.

A Blogger of an Opening Day

2007-08-30T12:14:00.000-07:00

The paint crew says I'm getting too close to the water soluble lithium latex field striping paint for creating this blog during the busiest soccer time of the year. Can you really trust the opinions of a crew that does their mixing in an unventilated area? I happily admit that Dave (third line from left in the photo), Ted (fifth line from left) and Reed (none of the lines were good enough) paint straighter lines than I was ever able to lay down. Marking before sunset makes a big difference.

The hardest part of creating this blog was trying to convince Jason Patzke that he could write something worth reading. If his posts are anything like the post game email analysis I get from him you won't want to miss reading on Mondays. I'm not exactly certain what to expect from U18 Premier player Alex Madsen. Not only does he have the credentials of a top defender, experience writing for his high school paper and an imaginative if not down right brilliant head on his shoulders, he's also got the password and username for this blog. Tuesdays will be all the news that's fit to print and maybe a little more. Brian Hardman, coach and former Ranger 85 player, posts midweek and with his very long memory of Ranger seasons gone by I may have to edit some of what he posts for accuracy. Soccer Moms stand up and be counted. Francie Jenson has agreed to carry the banner on Thursdays and give us insights on everything from smelly socks to the raising of soccer players (97 Ranger Ben & 91 Ranger Josh). She only agreed to this on the condition that all other soccer moms would guest blog for her. Yes, this is a warning. Eric Stephens holds down the Friday blog with musings from the collegiate side of life--a soccer coach trying to get an education at (whisper this) the University of Utah. Didn't anyone tell him that coaching soccer is an education? So is working at Target. Academy Director Greg Jolley is the Saturday blogger so don't expect anything too deep, thought provoking or relevant. Greg says weekends are for naps and given that he heads the landscape management department at BYU while finding time to mow and groom our fields on Mondays, work with staff coaches all week, train academy players and x leaguers, lay out the design of our fields, and volunteer with virtually every part of the club we don't mind if he finds time for a nap. He should be good at posting a blog with his eyes closed.

Since we're introducing bloggers, I should mention all of you. Once you catch the spirit of blogging, I expect every player, parent, sibling, pet and mowing crew member to try their hand at creating a Ranger soccer blog for submission. You never know when the writing muse in you will inspire a Ranger blog worth posting. Email me your blog post and I'll see that it appears right here at the best soccer blog on the planet. Or at least Utah Valley. Welcome to Rangers at the Far Post.