"Don't back off the grounders, Son."
Joe's dad tossed him another dribbler.
Joe knelt, then flinched. The ball bounced lazily under his legs. Joe felt his face flush with embarrassment.
He chased the ball and angrily chucked it back to his dad.
"No worries, Son. Try again. It's just a grounder. Charge it, snag it and pass it on. Get your knee down; all the way to the ground if you need to. Glove in the dirt, free hand over the top. You can do it!"
This one had some pep, but so did Joe. He ran towards it, he momentum making his knee slide a bit as it touched the grass. The ball stuck firmly in the webbing of his glove as his free hand trapped it in the pocket. Gracefully, he rose and returned the ball to his dad in one fluid motion.
"PERFECT!" crowed his dad. "That's all there is to it, Joe."
Bored yet? Try reading it again with a British accent...