Select programs fuel expectations

For years, Michelle Lawson dedicated herself to soccer with the dream of making the varsity at Centerville High School.

At 6, her family postponed a Florida vacation so she could play in a tournament.

At 9, she joined Soccer Centerville, a highly competitive select club that often serves as a gateway to the high school team.

Her team won 153 games and lost 42 in six seasons. Her parents never missed a game.

MARVIN FONG/DAYTON DAILY NEWS Michelle Lawson (right) was a starting player in her six years of select soccer before entering high school. At a North Carolina camp, she was named MVP. But in her senior year, she was cut from the Centerville (OH) High School varsity.

'Winning matters at Centerville more than anything else -- at all levels. It's tradition especially at the high school. You can't break tradition.'

"Select was the best for us,'' said Michelle's mother, Barbara. `It's just a high. You just love it.''

The high didn't last through high school. Michelle Lawson made the varsity as a junior but played only sparingly. She was cut from the team as a senior.

"It was kind of like a death in the family,'' her father, Carl, said. "No question it was that traumatic.''

Thousands of Miami Valley athletes like Michelle spend their youth playing select sports with the hope of becoming tomorrow's prep and college stars. Some make it onto the varsity high school team and end up leading their squads to glory. A few earn coveted college athletic scholarships. Most, however, never play soccer past select.

Select sports is exactly as it sounds. Kids must try out for teams and the best players are "selected" to be members. Unlike traditional recreational-league teams, select clubs play more games and against tougher opponents.

Players and parents often travel to other cities and states for tournaments and sometimes dedicate themselves year-round to their sport. Winning is important and the most talented kids get to play a lot while some other players can spend most of the season riding the bench.

'Gotta get a scholarship'

Now, participating in select is becoming as popular as it is necessary. Many high schools have started relying on these clubs as a farm system to develop their talent. Centerville has two select soccer clubs that have fed many athletes to the boys and girls teams at the high school. Last fall, it all paid off: Both squads spent time as the country's top-ranked teams.

But even with such success, experts say the select concept has flaws.

"Instead of using sport to develop kids, we've changed the whole purpose," said Martha Ewing, an associate professor at Michigan State University's Institute for the Study of Youth Sports. "I think a lot of these parents think if these kids get on the high school teams that will lead to a college scholarship. And statistics don't support that."

What the statistics show is that 2.5 million kids ages 4-19 played soccer last year as members of the U.S. Youth Soccer Association, the largest youth soccer organization in the country. About a third of those players, or more than 800,000 kids, played select. Compare that to the total scholarships offered by Divison I schools that year: 4,444.

The low number of scholarships available hasn't stopped some parents from thinking their child will be the one to make it all the way.

"We hear it here, even in Centerville, where there's maybe a little more money than in some areas: Gotta get a scholarship, gotta get a scholarship, gotta get a scholarship,'' boys soccer coach Brian Stevens said.

Like Stevens, Alter High School boys soccer coach Bob Ellis knows better. `For every one that makes it," he noted, "there are thousands that don't get a sniff.'

The soccer life

"I guess we knew a long time ago that there's a lot of competition in this community,'' Barbara Lawson said. "And you want to cover your bases with your kid. You want to help your child along."

So after three years in recreational soccer, Michelle moved up to select. She was in third grade.

From that point, soccer basically consumed the Lawsons' lives. Michelle, an only child, played year-round, and the family spent most weekends and holidays traveling to games and tournaments.

"Forget a three-day weekend,'' Carl Lawson said. "Anytime there was a three-day holiday, there was a soccer tournament."

Soccer became as much a social activity for the Lawsons as a sports activity. Soccer trips became family vacations. Soccer friends became family friends. Before long, soccer became a part of their identity.

"It was something you were really proud of,'' Michelle said. "(My teammates and I) would wear our jackets and dress in Umbro (shorts) every day. It was a little clique.''

"You get real close to the other parents on the team,'' added Barbara. "We hadn't lived in the community that long so it was a network of friends for us.''

A status symbol

"It certainly would not be worth it at all if your family did not enjoy it,'' Barbara said. Many clubs, such as Soccer Centerville and the Huber Heights Warrior Club, also rely on parents to run the organization and volunteer at events. Such dedication has paid off: Soccer Centerville and the Warrior Club raise as much as $20,000 apiece from their annual tournaments, which continue to grow.

Their success on and off the field has sent other communities scrambling to form their own select programs. "... You kind of get caught up in the everybody's-doing-it kind of thing,'' said Mike Kierstead, director of the boys basketball select program in Miamisburg. "In order to stay competitive, or be competitive, you need to have your kids learning at a higher level.''

Tony Lupia, former sports director of Kettering's South Community YMCA, said prestige and envy have fueled select's growth, too. "Parents see the beautiful uniforms, the travel that these kids get, the recognition that they get ... and say, 'How come my kid doesn't have that opportunity?'' said Lupia, who, after requests from parents, plans to start a select basketball program for elementary-age children in Kettering this fall.

"Select has become a status symbol, whether or not we want to admit it.''

Feeling professional

"Soccer has always been the premier thing'' in Centerville, Michelle explained. "It was kind of cool to say you were part of a select team. You felt real professional.'' Her first game as a 9-year-old with the Elkettes, however, was a harsh welcome into the competitive world of select. The team traveled to Cincinnati to play the Cardinals - one of the premier select programs in the country - and lost 4-0. Michelle cried all the way home.

The Elkettes eventually improved and before long, they expected to win. Michelle remembers the victories as vividly as the losses: such as the euphoria she felt when her team beat the No.3-ranked team in the state and the disappointment she felt when they lost their final tournament.

Her parents have vivid memories, too, though they tend not to be of the team's wins and losses. They remember the team dinners after games, the caravans to tournaments, the camaraderie and joking on the sidelines - even in times of distress.

"I remember one dad on our team got kicked off the field by a referee, and we got him a framed red card and presented it to him at our team party,'' Barbara said with a chuckle.

Michelle enjoyed having her parents at games and said she never felt "bad" pressure from them or anyone else to win. But she said she always knew success was important.

"Winning matters at Centerville more than anything else - at all levels,'' she said. "It's tradition, especially at the high school. You can't break tradition.''

Michelle began to appreciate Centerville's winning tradition in fifth grade, when she started a four-year stint as a ballgirl for the high-school Elks. She attended all of their home games and even got to accompany the team to the state tournament one season.

"That was a big thing because we basically worshipped the varsity players,'' she said.

All indications were that Michelle would be a member of that team one day.

She was a starting player in her six years of select and attended top notch summer soccer camps. At a camp in North Carolina, she was named most valuable player and received a complimentary letter from a national coach, which she framed and hung on her wall.

Expectations

"I had been a pretty key player on my select team and it was really hard to get used to not being respected as much any more,'' Michelle said. "There was a lot of crying, a lot of arguing between my parents and I. They would criticize me, not criticize, constructively criticize the way I played while I was in. They'd ask: Why aren't you playing? What goes on in practice? What does (the coach) say to you?"

"It was hard for them. They thought I was being cheated. I was hurt but I was really nervous, too. I was still trying to get used to all of the lights, the people, the pressure. When I was in the game, I think I did a really good job. And (coach Skelton) said that.''

Getting pumped up

As the expectations piled up, so did her hopes - only to come crashing down before her senior season even began.

In February of her junior year, Michelle broke her left arm and tore the anterior cruciate ligament of her left knee in a skiing accident. One doctor refused to operate on her knee until her arm healed, saying she'd be unable to use crutches with her arm in a cast. But with less than six months until soccer tryouts, Michelle couldn't wait. She found a doctor who would operate and then hobbled around without crutches while her injuries healed.

She worked vigorously to rehabilitate herself and was running with the aid of a brace by tryouts in July. Admittedly, she was out of shape. But she thought her past performances and her seniority would earn her a spot on the team.

Michelle and her mom went together to check the varsity roster posted at the high school.

When Michelle saw her name wasn't on it, she was stunned.

"I almost laughed,'' Michelle said. "I thought, 'It must be a mistake.''

Though her mom was nearby, she ran to a pay phone and called her former coach, mentor and family friend, Roy Leatherbury, who had helped her prepare for tryouts.

"The first thing he said was, 'I don't understand it, either,'' Michelle said. "And that's when I fully comprehended it and began crying hysterically.''

Barbara Lawson found her daughter a short time later sitting on a hill, sobbing. She sat beside her, put her arm around her and cried, too.

"I didn't know what to say,'' Barbara said. "I was numb.''

The successes

But coaches say they're the exceptions. Most kids end their competitive sports careers after high school. Some even earlier. That's why some experts who work with young people say hand-picking 8-, 9- and 10-year olds for select teams and dubbing them tomorrow's stars is absurd and unfair.

"A child who appears to be a superstar at age 10 might just be more physically mature than someone else,'' explained Ron Quinn, Xavier University women's soccer coach and the school's director of physical education. "There's no guarantee that that child at age 16 is going to be the next superstar.''

Impressing parents

"I didn't deserve to get cut,'' said Michelle, who will attend Ohio University this fall.

For his part, Skelton, the coach who cut her, said he likes Michelle `immensely.' `Unfortunately, she had the injury ... and she got beat out,' he said.

Life wasn't the same for the Lawsons after Michelle was cut. The family didn't attend high school soccer games because they were too painful to watch. They didn't socialize much with their soccer friends because, without soccer, they had little in common anymore. They didn't attend Centerville football games because Skelton was the announcer and they couldn't bear to hear his voice.

"The whole fall was a very empty feeling,' Carl Lawson said.

Michelle found some solace in her position as editor of the school newspaper. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she had let her parents down.

"You're always trying to impress your parents,'' she said. "You always live to make your parents happy. In fits of angst I remember saying, 'I really let you down.''

"I never really thought about myself a lot. I could get over it myself. It's so hard dragging people with you.''

Her father, who sat across from his daughter as she spoke, seemed surprised, and somewhat hurt, by her words.

"Michelle, did you feel pressure from us?'' he asked.

"Not pressure," Michelle said. "I just want to make you happy.''

CONTACT: Susan Vinella at susan_vinella@coxohio.com