Somewhere in all our world of footballing fun, a mother is tucking her young soccer player into bed.
“Tell me a story, mom,” the little boy says.
“For sure, sweetheart,” mom smiles. “Cristiano Ronaldo’s Big Book of Dives, or The Fuzzy Happy Bunnies Win the World Cup?”
[PRBREAK][/PRBREAK]
“No, no,” the child responds, sticking his tongue out and shaking his head. “I want … a scary story!”
“Are you sure, sweetheart? I don’t want you having bad dreams.”
“Yes! I want the scariest story ever. Ever!”
Mom sees the fire in her little superstar’s eyes. She decides he is ready to know … the truth.
“The scariest story … ever?” she asks.
“Ever!” he says, crossing his arms and thumping them to his chest.
“All right,” she responds. “I’m going to tell you about – the Designated Player!”
(Creepy organ music filters in from somewhere. The full moon casts long, crazy shadows across the room.)
“Aw, mom! The DP is a good thing! It’s what Our Team needs to make the playoffs in the MLS East!”
“No, son. That’s what it’s meant to be. But it isn’t really like that. The DP is supposed to make our team better, yes. But. You know how coach gives you oranges and Gatorade at halftime of your games?”
“Yes …?”
She takes a deep breath, and looks him right in his deep, disbelieving eyes.
“The Designated Player eats all the oranges, and drinks all the Gatorade.”
The little boy’s eyes widen in horror.
“A-all the oranges?” he gasps. “No Gatorade? What do all the other players get?”
Mom is silent. This is harder than she thought. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and tells him the dark and secret way things really are.
“Tap water – and prunes.”
The little boy shrieks, and pulls his covers way up over his head.
“That’s horrible! It can’t be true!”
“It is, darling. I’m very sorry, but it is. The league just doesn’t have enough Gatorade and oranges for everyone.”
“But what about the owners, mom?” the boy whimpers. “They have lots of money. Can’t they give the DP their own Gatorade and oranges?”
“That’s very clever, son. In a perfect world, you would be right. The owners give DPs a lot, but they still take a huge amount from the other players.”
“David Beckham is a DP, mom! Is he … bad?”
“Well, if he is, son, it’s not for that reason. He just made the best deal he could – same as all the other players.”
The little boys looks out from under his covers. He’s pale and puzzled. A tear rolls down his cheek
“Mom, what about Coach Carver? Didn’t he say he would leave if Our Team didn’t get a DP?”
“Now son, remember that the coach hasn’t been here very long. He’s new to our world, and its strange ways. I’m sure, once they explain everything to him, he’ll understand and will decide to stay.”
She gives her boy a big hug, and whispers to him that everything – somehow – is going to be all right.
“Mom,” the child says, “I’m going to have a nightmare that Coach Carver gives me a prune.”
“Coach Carver doesn’t want to do that, son,” his loving mother whispers. “You’ll see.”
(Onward!)