SACCO: She’s right, Gladiators have nothing to be sorry for

She opened her red fold-up chair, placed her white tote down and got comfortable.
She waited until the game started to take out her case and put the glasses on.
And she cheered. When Ken Cox called your name over the slapped-together PA system at the Riverheads pitch, she clapped with you. She mouthed Kristen Moody’s name. She rubbed her daughter Elizabeth’s leg when Cox’s voice echoed, “And number 4.”
And she clapped harder.
“Kristin Shomo.”
And she smiled when you all got together before the start of the match and yelled out, “Dattilio.” Looking briefly at Elizabeth, before taking her late husband’s yellow Christopher Newport hat off her knee and placing it gently into her bag.
Bill down, adjusting it ever so slightly before reaching for a water and taking a drink.
And she looked away, hiding the field from her eyes with her hand, when that pesky Andrea Odemark (that was No. 7 for Goochland; you remember her) kicked in a goal.
Marsha shook her head and put her hand over her mouth as the Bulldogs celebrated.
“Not good.” she said to no one in particular. Not good.
And she yelled, “Let’s go, girls” when you started to show signs of life on offense. Her hands clapping at eye level, then resting them back over her mouth.
She let out, “Aww!” whenever Cassandra Jackson corralled one of your shots.
When your shot, Kristin Shomo, sailed just to the left of the net, she slapped her hands together and sank back down in her chair. Taking a second to rub her daughter’s leg again, patting her shoulder with her other hand as if it were a beating heart.
She clapped as you ran back downfield after your latest attack.
And the goal. Oh man, your goal, Courtney Shifflett. Marsha Dattilio jumped high enough out of her seat that she just might have touched her husband, Mike. Her arms raised over her head, hands curled up into fists as you celebrated. As she celebrated with you.
“Yes!” she screamed. Her voice standing out amid the cheers that surrounded her.
Olivia Damico got the same treatment when she scored on a penalty kick.
“Let’s go girls,” she yelled loud enough that her husband, the JV coach you loved and lost last Monday, probably heard her.
She was right, Kristen Moody. You have nothing to be sorry for. She told you that when, after coach Homes Tehrani did his best to cheer up the team at midfield, you sauntered off the pitch, through the gate, up the hill and into her arms. There she patted your back, holding you tight and told you that nope, you had nothing to be sorry for.
And they held each other for a long time. Both Marsha Dattilio and Moody crying.
Most plop down $2.25 for cards, shake hands and dish out hugs next to a casket before walking out the funeral home and moving on with their lives. You layered the pitch with your hearts and covered that with your souls just to keep the ride rolling.
It will always roll on for Marsha Dattilio as a reminder of her late husband and the man you’ll always call Coach.