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"The Lion, the Sarma, and the Soccer Champs" short story is a richly layered slice-of-life narrative that fuses humor, family warmth, and unexpected drama into a single day’s adventure. Set in suburban Orange County, it unfolds over the course of a Saturday morning and captures the chaos and charm of parenting, with subtle commentary on generational cycles and the meaning of heroism in the everyday. 

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The Lion, the Sarma, and the Soccer Champs

By Harry Arabian

It was a cool, golden Saturday morning in Orange County—May 15th, to be exact. After weeks of crunching circuits and meeting deadlines, I, Herald (age 40), an overworked electrical engineer, was finally set to enjoy a well-earned moment of peace. Coffee in hand, I settled under the shade of the live oak tree in our backyard, ready to soak in the stillness.

In the far corner of the yard, my two sons, Vico (10) and Ray (8), were already deep into soccer practice, their cleats thudding the grass in rhythm. Their team, the Red Leopards, had against all odds clawed their way into the Youth Soccer League’s final eight. Today was not just a practice day—it was Team Photo Day.

Marie, my wife (35), emerged from the kitchen with her own coffee in one hand and a white envelope in the other. “Herald,” she called, smiling slyly, “I hate to interrupt your royal rest, but did you check the mail lately?”

I gave her a side glance.

She continued without pause, “This letter says today’s the official Photo Day. One o’clock sharp. Team uniforms required.” She emphasized that last line like a coach reading out a penalty.

I straightened up. “We’re ahead of the game. I bought their uniforms last Saturday—they’re in the trunk.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And when was the last time you looked at your sons? They look like sheep ready for shearing. Last haircut they had was before our Christmas photo.”

“I was going to take them next week,” I replied.

“Well, the ‘two-for-one’ special ends this weekend,” she shot back, sipping her coffee. That got my full attention. Marie always knew how to close the deal.

She handed me the envelope and walked toward the grapevine along our backyard fence, collecting leaves for her signature Soot Sarma. The boys joined her.

“Are you making Soot Sarma for lunch?” Vico asked, already licking his lips.

“We’ll need it to win,” said Ray. “It’s our secret weapon.”

“That’s why you’re in the winner’s bracket,” Marie said with a wink. “Hard work—and Sarma.”

By 9 a.m., we were in the car heading to the Quail Hill Shopping Strip for the haircut mission. Sports Cuts was swarming with other soccer families chasing the same discount.

“One-hour delay,” warned the stylist at the front.

“No problem,” I said, spotting a Starbucks next door. “Boys, when you’re done, meet me outside with your fresh ‘photo day’ cuts. Mention ‘Sport Team Photo Trim.’”

They nodded and pulled out their Nintendo Switches, ready to kill an hour in FIFA 2025.

I ordered a Venti black coffee and grabbed a seat on the patio. The front page of The Local News caught my eye: "Irvine–Laguna Wildlife Corridor Progress." Just as I took my first sip, I glanced toward the barber shop. The boys were already in their chairs—two shaggy heads mid-transformation.

Good, I thought. Smooth morning.

Then chaos broke loose.

Screams erupted. Chairs toppled. People scattered. A barista burst through the front doors yelling, “There’s a mountain lion inside!”

I shot up. Inside the Starbucks?

Apparently, the mountain lion had been hiding behind the dumpster and slipped in through the back when the trash was taken out. Half a dozen customers were already filming the scene. I dashed toward Sports Cuts. The staff locked the doors just as Vico and Ray pressed their faces against the glass to catch a glimpse of the wild visitor.

I called 911.

“There’s a mountain lion loose in Quail Hill Plaza,” I reported. “Inside Starbucks. My kids are nearby.”

Within minutes, the sound of sirens filled the air. Animal control arrived swiftly and, thankfully, subdued the creature without harm. It had taken shelter behind the counter, more frightened than fierce.

When I re-entered Sports Cuts, Vico grinned, “Dad, we’re already trending. It’s all over TikTok!”

By the time we got home, the Sarma pot was bubbling and the kitchen was filled with the scent of simmering grape leaves and spices.

Marie looked up from the stove. “You’re back? I gave up on you an hour ago.”

“You won’t believe it,” Ray began, “We saw a mountain lion!”

“I heard something on the radio,” she said, stunned. “Wait—that Starbucks?”

“The one next to Sports Cuts,” I confirmed. “I made the 911 call.”

Vico puffed his chest. “Now we have the ultimate team photo haircut story!”

By 12:45, the boys were fed, clean, and freshly trimmed. We piled into the car, headed for photo day.

As we drove, Vico turned to me. “Dad, you’ve gotta retell your Lion Hairdresser story.”

I chuckled. “Alright. It was spring, 1976, back in Boston. My aunt Hazel and your grandma were rolling Sarma for a church event. I needed a haircut for my yearbook photo. Aunt Hazel insisted we stop at her friend’s salon—called Lion Hairdresser. You can imagine the sign: a lion with a massive mane.”

“Oh no,” Ray whispered.

“Yes,” I grinned. “Jane, the owner, gave me the full treatment. Wash, trim, under the dryer dome. I came out looking like Vinnie Barbarino from Welcome Back, Kotter—complete with mustache.”

Marie laughed from the front seat. “You looked like Mr. Kotter himself!”

At the photo zone, the Red Leopards stood tall—uniformed, trimmed, and camera-ready.

“We should take a family photo to remember this day,” Ray said. “Just like Dad’s Lion Haircut.”

We all smiled.

Two lion stories, one unforgettable day, and enough Sarma to fuel a championship.