Savvy 9: First Home

I wanted to play First Home. I am an old woman, after all, at least by lacrosse standards. I have twenty years on every other player on the field. And 'though I am blessed with stick skills the way that old steam engines are blessed with, well, steam, I wheeze when I walk upstairs too fast with the laundry. Under the circumstances ,I figured I would be granted that glorious place of honor - steps from the opponent's goal, stick distance from glory, never at risk of missing the pass that leads to the shot that leads to the other team jumping up and down, parading, gloating... in other words, never having to play defense.

I could make up a hallmark card, in answer to: "Love means never having to say you're sorry" (oh, right. therein lies the key to a long lasting relationship). It would be: "Playing First Home means never getting blamed when the other team scores." First Home, it seems to me, is the ultimate shame-proof position. Designated cherry-picker. Player of few steps. Scoring machine. That's me.

Except, it wasn't me. So much for respect for the elderly. I showed up to our game (in the dome! against the University of Toronto!) on Thursday night, and learned that I was to play Point. Point is the position that guards First Home. Like First Home, the Point doesn't have to move a lot, but she does have to move enough to prevent the scoring machine from scoring. I shrugged. I whimpered, "But I've never played Point." To which my captain- captain oh captain - she of the powerhouse mid-fielder thighs who runs like a greyhound responded warmly, "You'll be fine."

And, apart from that first unpleasant play, when the First Home took a shot that blazed past my temple and scored, I was fine. By which I mean, I left the dome on my own two feet, with only minor bruises. And I returned home to find an email from a friend in Maine, who said that the grade four team needed a lacrosse coach. I told her to do it herself. She said she'd never played lacrosse. I told her she'd be fine. She told me she'd like me to think about whether there were any latent lacrosse players in town who might be able to coach.

I didn't know of any, so I recommended a reconnaissance mission. I told her to go to the healthy food grocery store and look for someone extra double preppy, sidle up and ask, "Do you like to play first home?" If she's a lacrosse player, she's likely to say, "Oh, yea." And then you'll know. If she's not? She's likely to slap you.

I'm waiting to hear back.