If you recall years ago hearing a heroic tale of a wealthy antagonist stealing from the poor throughout his kingdom only to wind up losing in the end, I’m sure you can relive the uplifting spirit you were left with.

In this particular tale, I’m referring to four years ago when a former Columbus Crew SC owner, whose name shall remain out of this post, attempted to steal our hometown soccer club from us. As a result, many, including myself, passionately supported the Save the Crew movement. After a grueling grassroots effort, the fans won and kicked his sorry tail out of here.

In many of my personal and professional circles, I made my feelings known of this man, resulting in me becoming a go to source for updates with those I came into contact. Although, not actively involved like those who led the movement, I did my part in the ways that I could. During one conversation in a professional setting someone asked me, “why are you so invested in saving the team?”

It was an easy answer: "because one day I want to share the experience of going to a match and the joys it’s brought me with a future little Loafer.”

That day that I had dreamt about came on Sunday, July 3 when I got to take my son to his first match. Completely last minute and prompted during a living room soccer match when he said he wanted to “go watch soccer.” I messaged our Crews Crew Facebook chat, confirmed all my friends who are still season ticket holders were going and bought tickets two hours before kick-off.

With a solid three-hour long nap for the little guy and a makeshift diaper bag packed with the bare necessities we set off. Singing the entire ride down to the LDC, we were both amped up. Of course, this didn’t happen smoothly thanks in part to a minor injury in the parking lot. After quickly triaging a skinned knee the two of us met friends for a happy hour beer and soda. With drinks in hand, we met Crew Cat, got scared of Crew Cat, got free ice cream, and greeted everyone with a “go Crew!”

In attempts to not lose his attention, we broke from the group so he could walk around and see the pitch for the first time in person. The moment his little eyes locked in on that thick, bright sea of green accompanied by the magnitude of his first soccer stadium made me realize how massive of a moment this was. All the passionate and sometime colorfully articulated reasons why the Crew should be saved became more than just saving a soccer club - it was for this very moment in time.

Kickoff was at his bedtime, so we didn’t last long. For a kid who has no attention span and doesn’t stay seated long, he slowly chewed his pretzel and took in the first half. Between the occasional “go Crew” and “I want to go down there to play soccer” requests he was locked in. This first match experience was everything I had hoped, as I experienced an immense amount of love for those hours of July 3. It may have been a 0-0 draw, but I went home the winner that evening.

​-Matt Lofy, Regular Contributor

I remember saying when our son was only months old, “I can’t wait until he’s more fun.” Then he started to walk , which quickly escalated into a hurried, unbalanced shuffle.

Not long after, I remember saying, “I can’t wait for him to talk.” He’s two and a half now, and that boy doesn’t stop. There’s no off switch or mute button on the kid. I’d like to think he gets it from his mother, but I’m the one with the podcast!

There’s a couple of memorable phrases he now often says. For instance, if you ask him if he had a good day at daycare, he’ll have a reflective look on his face and reply as if he’s a philosopher “I did…and I didn’t.” It’s also the same answer when we ask him if he gave his cheese stick to the dog.

The one that really hit home recently, is his improper use of “that’s impossible.” It can be one of the most mundane stories from work or when we ask if it was he who tooted. He responds with an exacerbated tone, “what…that’s impossible.” Son, I assure you I sat through that meeting at work, and I also got a fresh whiff of the smell when you ran by me.

For me personally, his “what…that’s impossible,” quite possibly can be the most thought-provoking phrase I’ve heard in recent memory. I’ve found myself reflecting in regard to his progress through the past months. It’s impossible at two and a half, that he’s carrying the garbage bag on trash night showing me how it’s done. While I mow the lawn, he now tells me to straighten my lines. It’s impossible that he is aware enough to notice that.

There is so much joy in hearing that phrase come out of his mouth. Although used improperly, his response is genuine excitement in the things we as adults lack the same sentiment. It has provided a reason to stop and take stock in the possibilities this little chatter box has currently before him and in the months ahead.

It’s a reminder that in the words of Walt Disney, "it's kind of fun to do the impossible.” If the little guy can’t believe it happened, then as his dad I can keep surprising him and finding ways to blow his mind. I have the opportunity as a father to put aside what I believe are simple joys and just cherish the moments that I can provide him the memories of the impossible.

​My question for you Dads who read this is simple, “What are you doing for your little one(s) to make the impossible, possible?”

-Matt Lofy, Regular Contributor