Life, my friends, is a winding trail through mountains. The depths of the valley, the view from the peak, Junito’s professional career will go through a range of challenges and victories. He will need help, he will need guidance. I shall do the best I can, taking his hand along a trail blazed and familiar to myself. But I can only take him so far. Why? Well, because…I am a pussy.

If I am going to unleash Junito into a land of tenacious Cannavaros, scheming Maldinis, and clumsy Metzelders, he must dabble in the dark arts. He must learn to embrace anger, channel hate, and fuel rage into a positive force. Right now, I am instilling a moral compass on my hijo, but he must walk with snakes to reach the promised land. And I have never walked with snakes.

The suegra has taught him rhythm and grace. Now I turn to my own sensei, the mythical soccer ninja. My experience with the soccer ninja is simple – he tried to kill me for failing him. You see, in middle school I harbored ambitions of playing soccer. I traveled Japan and climbed the infamous Mount Killwhitemanjarringly, in the heart of winter, all to seek out his shrine.

At the soccer ninja’s feet, I learned the deadly technique of “Let the Ball Fly Like a Poisoned Dart And Kill Upon Slight Impact.” At his hand, I mastered the technique of “Clutch the Other Player’s Groin on Setpieces.” So what happened? Did his technique fail to take me to the upper echelons of a freshman year team?

Not exactly. My best friend and I saw “Mighty Ducks” and, captivated by Emilio Estevez’s Oscar-worthy performance, switched our focus to ice hockey. The soccer ninja viewed my capitulation as betrayal. He vowed to murder me by the feared “Tug Jersey Collar until Asphyxiation or Red Card.”

But the soccer ninja underestimated his student. I learned from the rugby samurai that only one thing strikes fear in the soccer ninja, only one thing can keep his stealthy feet of death at a distance – standing water.

Up until this day, I have always had a perfectly still fountain in my living room. I tried a fish tank, but the water filter caused bubbles, and almost led to my death in an apartment in Buenos Aires four years ago. I also erroneously thought my dog’s water dish would protect me, but only a case of mistaken identity spared my life last summer.

So…the fountain has worked. For now. But as I prepare my son for his own baptism of fire, I must kneel down to ripple the waters with the slightest of touches. Will the soccer ninja kill me in one swoop of his fabled ninja sword? Will Junito be up to the task? There is only one thing for certain – the soccer ninja will be cheaper than daycare.

And on the plus side, assuming the soccer ninja does not assassinate us both in one swift twirl of a nunchuk, he will protect Junito for the rest of his life. The soccer ninja takes care of his own…

“Junito-san. Walk Soft. Kick Hard.”

Related posts:

1. Junito: La Mision Posible. La Vuelta?
2. Junito: Sons Kill Their Dad One Day, Everyday
3. Junito: The Soccer Ninja & A Painful Execution