Hanging It Up

It's time to walk away from The Beautiful Game

Friends, family, teammates, that one guy from Ted Lasso with the great hair: thank you for coming to my presser.

I don’t think there’s a lot of mystery as to why I’ve called you here today, so I suppose I’ll get right to it.

I’m officially retiring from my indoor soccer team.

Okay, just calm down. Please.

Some decorum.

Jesus.

After much soul searching, painful consultations with my medical team, difficult conversations with my wife long into the night, I’m left with no other conclusion: my body just can’t do it anymore.

It’s a simple truth that every great athlete must face eventually, and today it’s my turn.

I’m hanging up my Copa Mundial’s.

But Adam, didn’t you retire from soccer, like ten years ago, after you had that surgery on your left foot, the one the surgeon kind of botched, leaving your izquierda proper fucked?

Yes.

My left foot looks like T2’s arm after Arnold blasts him with a shotgun. When TSA sees the rods and screws in my foot they all gather around the X-ray machine and mock me; they slap each other’s backs and hee-haw like cattle, and I seethe with resentment, and hiss and click at them like a squirrel.

But as fucked up as that foot looks, it works. Somehow. I can run, I can jump, I can do all the things.

So when a good buddy asked me if I wanted to get back out on the pitch some two-and-a-half years ago, I said sure. Why not? My body was feeling up to it, and I missed the beautiful game. So, I joined the mighty Kathleen Turner Overdrive (KTO for short).

You’ve probably heard of us. You see we play in the over-40 men’s league on Wednesday nights at the Bladium. We’re kind of a big deal.

When I first joined the squad, I was nervous. My friend, who I had played soccer with on various teams over the years, assured me that the team was chill, just a group of dudes looking for a kick-about and a few beers after. But then I played that first game and I realized that while that might be the case, these dudes could ball. And my skills had atrophied considerably. My touch was sloppy, I was indecisive and timid. And out of shape. I was without doubt the worst player on the pitch that night. Hardly a momentous debut.

I texted my friend the next day and laid it bare. I don’t want to be a burden to this team, I told him. Everyone was better than me, I didn’t want to bring the squad down. My friend reassured me all was well. He told me no one was judging me, they needed all the bodies they could get out there, and that I would get back into soccer shape soon enough.

So I buckled down. I laid back and played defense. Everyone appreciates a guy who plays defense. I sprinted back after every turnover. I put in workman shifts. I might not be the best out there, I thought, but I will try as hard as anyone. In time, my skill started to return. I started contributing. Meaningfully. Defensive stops. An assist here or there. Nothing fancy. Never man of the match. But part of the squad. Pertinent to the outcome of the game. And that felt good. I was working for it.

As the makeup of the squad shifted, either from players getting signed to other teams, or, more frequently, ACL-tears, there became a need for me to contribute more and more on offense. Suddenly I started finding the back of the net occasionally. And it was like finding my first love again. Reconnecting after all these years, and realizing we still felt the same way about each other. A sweet, sweet kiss on a mid-summer night’s pitch.

And that’s when I shifted from being hands down the worst player on the field, to maybe not being the worst player on the field. Which felt like a real accomplishment. I turned 45 last month. 45-year-olds don’t get many opportunities to work towards athletic goals, and achieve them. Those are things you do when you are a kid. But to get the chance to prove things to yourself athletically, at this age, is so incredibly satisfying at the end of the day all you’re left with is gratitude.

Alas, while I was able to prove myself athletically, physically my body was howling at me to stop. On the best of nights, when I felt great out there, I would still be limping the next day. Getting out of bed the morning after a match sounded like a skeleton being thrown down a staircase. My boys would want to run and play and roughhouse, and I would have to shoo them away.

Sorry, boys. Dada can’t. He played soccer last night.

Then there were the injuries, the mounting injuries. The knee, the ankle, the heel. In the 2.5 years I’ve played for the mighty KTO I’ve been to the orthopedic surgeon four times. I’m starting to know the doctors there on a first name basis. I have preferences. They see me limping in and they don’t even have to ask.

Indoor soccer? Their eyes inquire.

Yes, doc. Indoor.

Again.

This last injury just felt like a nail in the coffin. I don’t even know how it happened. Doc thinks it’s a possible labrum strain, or tear, maybe a hip flexor thing. Probably no surgery needed. Just physical therapy for awhile. Time will tell.

So I’m doing my exercises, taking it easy. All I know is that currently even running a few steps feels wrong in a way not worth pushing through. Pushing through doesn’t feel worth it anymore. And that’s the sign to hang it up.

To my many, many fans, thank you. Your support has meant the world. Seeing you wearing my jersey, lined up against the glass of the hockey-rink-turned-pitch, put purpose in my step night after night. I was doing it for you. That’s why I always stayed so long signing autographs in the parking lot afterward.

To my wife: thanks for all the love and support. To my boys, thanks for watching your old man out there giving it his all. I hope someday you pick up the torch, but honestly you do whatever you want. Dad will be your biggest fan regardless.

To the organization, thank you for having my back and allowing this return. Though I wish it was longer, I feel my time at KTO was impactful to the history of the organization. I look forward to continuing my involvement both in player development, and community outreach.

To my teammates, what an honor sharing the pitch with you. When you remember me, I want you to remember that one time I subbed in last minute on the south field. The one where you have to wear flats, not cleats. We were down 4-3. Maybe a minute left in the game. I subbed in and suddenly we had a free kick. I diagonaled to the dead center of the pitch, got the ball on my left, and punched into the back of the old onion bag, one-touch, seconds before the clock expired. Tie game.

Or how about on that central field that one night? Where I was dribbling just past the halfway line, caught the goalie sleeping, and chipped it perfectly nearly thirty yards over his head. Oof. That felt so good.

You could even remember me like this:

That photo has nothing to do with indoor soccer, but I got to be down in the bowels of Mile High Stadium the other night, and it ruled. Plus look how strong I look!

Just don’t remember me the time we got into a brawl with the Viet Bros. The referees at the Bladium, for the most part, are dog shit, and the Viet Bros are always chippy as hell, so things escalated all game. A foul for a foul for a foul. No cards, nothing was called. And then this one guy just straight up kicked our player; our dude was on the ground after being fouled, no longer with the ball, mind you, and this guy on the other team just straight runs right up and kicks him as hard as he can! It was wild. It immediately came to blows after that, benches cleared, utter chaos.

Try not to remember how in that moment while everyone was rushing into the fight, I just kind of stood there like, um, good luck? I’m in my forties. I’m not getting into a fight on a Wednesday night at a place that hosts kid’s birthday parties on the weekend. So, I just sort of stood there while it was all sorted out, then had beers with everyone after, reliving the drama blow by blow as if I had anything to do with it. Don’t remember me not joining the cavalry in that moment, team. Remember me in other ways. Because in every other way, I had your back, KTO.

Look this face is all I have. If it gets busted, there goes my comedy career. People aren’t coming for the jokes, my dudes. They’re there for the eye candy. Because I’m a snack. I know it, and they know it. And I know that they know that I know it.

No indoor soccer game is worth risking that.

So, in conclusion, friends, family, teammates, that one guy from Ted Lasso, thanks for giving this old man a shot. I’ve added so many memories to my personal soccer database, memories that as any washed-up-athlete can tell you, will never be forgotten. On my deathbed, I know I’ll be replaying some of the favorite goals of my life. And I’m so thrilled to have added a few more.

I shan’t be a stranger, KTO. I will be there to root the team on in the playoffs. Because if you win you get a t-shirt. And technically I played the first three games of this season so I’m entitled to a t-shirt. Plus I paid for the whole session. So if we win you best believe I’m coming for that cotton. Legally I’m entitled to it.

And who knows, once I get this labrum thing worked out, maybe I’ll see some of you on the chill Sunday morning kick-abouts. But that’s the only place I’ll see you. My days in the league are done.

But what happy days they were.

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July Shows

What to do when you’re old and lame? Why shows of course! But never fear, everyone, my HIGHLY PHYSICAL comedy will remain unchanged, despite my labrum issues. Same backflips, same vigorous fruit-smashing. That’s the ACH guarantee!

Northern California, you’re up! The sweethearts of Grindhouse Comedy are bringing me out for a nice little run to Petaluma, Sacramento, and Oakland (San Franciscans that means you as well!)

July 10 - Petaluma - McNear’s Saloon - Tix

July 11 - Sacramento - Sac Secret Show - Tix

July 12 - Oakland - The Terminal - Tix

Get tickets now!

Then it’s onto the Roaring Fork Valley, specifically Basalt, Colorado, where I will be performing my one-man show, “Happy Place,” at The Arts Campus at Willits. I love this venue so much, they always treat me right, and I’m excited for everyone to see this show that means so very much to me.

July 18 - Basalt, CO - TACAW - Tix

Got a bingo-bango Grawlix on July 26^th featuring Django Gold, a High Plains Comedy Festival stand-out last year. You’ve really got to see this dude. Plus, ya know, the Grawlix ain’t too shabby.

July 26 - Denver, CO - The Bug Theater - Tix

Lastly, not leastly, another Movie Night! With myself, Ben Roy, and Rory Scovel. Boy howdy are these shows a blast. Boy. Howdy.

July 30 - Denver, CO - The Bug Theater - Tix

Hope to see ya’s at a show!

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The Monthly Clip

God damn, Adam. Great clip. Way to go.

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Before you go, give the ole socials a follow

And if you’re in need of vinyl, message me. Still slinging wax of the new special.

Hey thanks so much for reading this Substack. This thing grows every month, and I really enjoying writing it, so I hope you enjoy reading it. If you do, hey why not give it a share?! Please and thank you.