I was not the star kid on my soccer team. Shocker, I know, considering the size of my thighs (Schwarzenegger-ish) and the way I strut around like Team Captain, doling out nonstop direction: “Pass the ball! Take the shot! Put your dish in the dishwasher!”

Still, once a week you’ll find me running around a real soccer field with a group of real “soccer moms,” burning off bad carb choices and the incessant demands of spawn and spouses. To see me in my pickup league, blasting shots past the goalie...