But I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, so I grab a stack of cones and a bag of soccer balls, pasting on my most excited smile to approach the group Beck gestured to. They study me apprehensively as I approach. Out of the coaching options, I’m most definitely the outlier for several reasons.

“Hello, everyone!” I tell my little huddle, injecting the amount of positivity I imagine a kindergarten teacher might. “I’m Saylor, and I’m going to be coaching you.”

“Why are you speaking English?” one kid asks suspiciously.

Before I can answer, another boy asks, “Why does your voice sound funny?”

“I’m from the United States,” I reply, choosing not to share that I don’t actually know German. That seems like the sort of weakness I shouldn’t share. “Okay, so we’re going to start by dribbling through these cones and—”

“Boring!” a little girl, one of just two in my group, calls out. “We learned dribbling ages ago!”

These kids are brutal. “It’s important to know the fundamentals,” I reply evenly. “I’ll demonstrate first. Line up behind this.” I set one cone down like I’m Neil Armstrong planting an American flag on the moon.

There are some groans—and muttered German—but they all listen, lining up behind the orange marker. I set up three more cones in a straight line and then return to the first one.

“All right. I want you to dribble through on the first pass. Get as close as you can without knocking the cone over.” I dribble through, brushing the ball against each cone. “Then a roll and reverse.” I demonstrate, so I’m facing back the other direction. “Alternate between step-over and scissors on the way back.” I step in front, over, and behind the ball. Then, step over it, plant my foot, and pivot between the next set of cones. I execute another step-over, a second scissors, and then I’m back at the start.

The little girl who told me dribbling was “boring” is first in line. I’m used to people looking at me with envy—of my soccer skills, of the hot guy talking to me—but I’ve never experienced pure admiration from a child before. The awestruck look on her face makes me feel about ten feet tall.

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

“Mila,” she replies.

“All right, Mila, you’re up first.” I pass the ball to her, and she traps it neatly, then executes the drill perfectly.

“Nice work,” I congratulate her. “Next.”

All twenty of my charges run through the drill twice. I correct a few of them on the first pass, but they all have it down by the second run-through.

“Okay. Next drill.” I switch up the cone formation so it’s in a large circle. “Dribble through at full speed. Knock over a cone or miss one and start over.”