For memo ochoa maybe you and him go watch your son goal keep at his first game??
FIRST GAME - m. ochoa
inwhich! you and your husband, memo ochoa, the great mexican goal keeper, watch your 6 year old sons first game as a goalie together.
frannytalks! i really loved this idea & writing it!! i hope you like it as well. currently watching the game, go morocco!! don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!
the entire week leading up to saturday, your house had been consumed by exactly one thing. you leaned against the kitchen counter while watching the chaos unfold.
mateo, your son’s, first ever football match as a goalkeeper. your son ran through the living room wearing gloves that were far too big for his hands. it wasn’t his first football match, it was his first as a goal-keeper though and your husband fought for this position.
memo sat cross-legged on the carpet with the seriousness of a man preparing for a world cup final. which, according to both father and son, was completely different.
“papá, what if they score?” mateo asked quietly, holding the ball against his chest with a worried expression on his face.
memo looked genuinely offended by the question., he placed a hand over his heart, “they might.” he answered honestly, his expression softening.
mateo’s face immediately fell and his little shoulders drooped. memo noticed at once. he scooted closer across the floor.
“pero, está bien.” (but, it’s okay.) he rested a hand on his son’s knee.
mateo looked up. his curls bounced slightly, “si?” (yeah?) he asked uncertainly.
memo nodded once, his smile turned gentle, “the best goalkeepers in the world get scored on sometimes.”
mateo considered this. he looked down at his gloves,“incluso tú?” (including you?) he asked quietly.
you nearly laughed but held back by biting the inside of your cheek.
memo, however, remained completely serious, he leaned back dramatically, “especially me.” he admitted with a small grin.
mateo stared at him and his eyes widened like a deer “but do you know what matters more?” memo tilted his head.
mateo shook his head no, his feet swung against the couch.
“having fun, it’s not all about winning.” memo tapped his son’s chest gently.
mateo smiled, his confidence slowly returned to his face. you, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to cry over a conversation about youth football. you busied yourself with folding towels.
saturday morning arrived with the energy of christmas day. the entire house seemed awake before sunrise. mateo was already dressed in his goalkeeper kit by seven in the morning. he stood proudly in the hallway with his gloves on.
the match wasn’t until eleven, you looked at the clock in disbelief, thinking it was at least ten.
memo was somehow even more nervous than mateo. your husband adjusted the tiny shin guards with absolute concentration, the kind you’d only see him use when he first held your baby and when he’s goalie for mexico.
“he needs more water.” memo announced seriously, with a stern voice.
“bebé, ya tiene dos botes de agua.” (baby, he already had two bottles of water.) you crossed your arms.
“another one.” he nodded firmly, “he needs it.”
“he’s six.” you laughed, rolling your eyes and making your way towards the cabinets.
memo ignored you entirely, he continued checking the equipment bag for missing things, and of course, he found some.
“where’s the spare towel?” he looked around the kitchen.
“the what?” you blinked, filling up the waterbottle.
“the spare towel for his gloves.” he spoke as though this were common knowledge.
mateo watched his father with admiration, his eyes followed every movement. you watched both of them with amusement, leaning against the counter while tightening the top.
sometimes it felt less like raising one child and more like raising two, you thought in your head while laughing to yourself quietly.
by the time you arrived at the local field, memo looked ready to coach, play, and personally defend the goal himself if necessary. he carried half of mateo’s equipment despite the bag weighing approximately two pounds.
the other parents sat comfortably in folding chairs. they chatted among themselves near the sidelines. memo stood, his arms folded across his chest.
you tried joking with him, but he didn’t budge. you also made suggestive comments about his “big arms”, and he didn’t even react, even though it’s his favorite compliment ever.
his eyes never left the field, he would pull the chair to sit down, but would stand up before touching the chair. he adjusted his sunglasses at least twenty times and you watched him for a few moments, wondering what was going on in his head.
“you know he’s not playing in the champions league, right?” you nudged his arm gently, popping some chips in your mouth.
memo glanced over, his expression remained the same serious-concentrated expression. “i know.” he nodded once.
he looked back toward the pitch, “but it’s his first match.” he smiled softly, uncrossing his arms and rubbing yours.
your heart melted immediately and you slipped your hand into his. across the field, mateo bounced excitedly on the goal line. his oversized gloves made every movement look dramatic and silly.
he looked tiny standing between the posts and you felt emotion swelling in your chest. memo, unfortunately, had entered full football mode since the beginning of this week, and was still in it. he stepped closer to the touchline.
“watch the angles!” he called out helpfully.
you burst into laughter, several parents turned around and your face flushed up. mateo gave a confident thumbs-up even though he had absolutely no idea what that meant.
five minutes later, memo tried again, he placed his hands around his mouth, “stay on your toes!” he shouted encouragingly.
mateo immediately started bouncing in place, he took the instruction extremely and too literally. the coach looked confused, he glanced toward the sidelines and memo who was causing a bunch of commotion.
“he thinks you mean actual toes.” you wiped happy tears from your face.
memo finally realized, he’s only six. and his head dropped back in defeat, “right.” he rubbed his forehead.
the match itself was chaos in the way children’s football always was. kids chased the ball in giant groups across the field, falling and clearly touching the ball with their hands.
positions meant absolutely nothing to anyone, nor did the offside rule apparently. defenders played striker, and left wingers played right. someone stopped to tie their cleats in the middle of play, and two little boys were just walking up and down, talking.
and mateo had spent at least two minutes waving at you instead of watching the game. then came the moment, a player from the other team broke away. the children on the sidelines shouted excitedly.
the ball rolled slowly toward the goal, you held onto your breath and watched as mateo froze, his eyes widening.
memo stood upright instantly, his hands clenched at his sides in balls of fists. then, with all the determination a six-year-old could possibly possess, mateo launched himself sideways. his tiny body crashed onto the grass, his arm scraping against the turf.
and he stopped the ball, the field erupted into cheers, even though it wasn’t a very pretty save, one of his gloves had fallen off. but the only thing that mattered was that it counted.
memo lost his mind, he threw both arms into the air, “THAT’S MY SON!” he shouted with enough pride to power an entire stadium.
every parent nearby laughed, they turned toward you two, you covered your face. your shoulders shook with amusement mixed with embarrassment.
mateo climbed back to his feet looking absolutely stunned. he stared at his own hands in shock. then he looked toward the sidelines. his eyes searched for his parents.
memo was already applauding harder than anyone else there, he even looked close to tears. you waved enthusiastically and you were sending him heart signs.
mateo beamed, you could feel his confidence radiating from every inch. after the match ended, your son sprinted across the field. his gloves bounced against his sides.
memo met him halfway, he opened his arms immediately. mateo launched himself into them. his laughter echoed across the field.
“did you see my save!?” he asked breathlessly.
memo looked completely serious. he held his son securely. “mateo.” he shook his head in disbelief.
your little boy waited as anticipation filled his expression.
“that was better than half the saves i’ve made in my career.” memo announced proudly.
mateo gasped, his mouth fell open, “de verdad?” (really?) he looked at his father with pure admiration.
memo nodded without hesitation, “absolutely.” he gave him a kiss on his forehead.
you rolled your eyes fondly, you slipped an arm around both of them, “don’t listen to him.” you smiled warmly.
mateo looked confused, his brows knitted together, a fake angry expression.
then you leaned down. your expression softened.
“because he’s lying.” you whispered dramatically, joking.
memo burst into laughter, poking your nose with his. mateo joined in immediately, his little giggles filled the air.
and as the three of you walked back toward the car, your husband kept one arm around your shoulders and the other around your son, already discussing future goalkeeper gloves, training sessions, and what he called “the family legacy.”
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m. ochoa taglist: no one yet!
perm. taglist: @pinkfashionkilla , @iovhrts <33
