By MARK TAYLOR

The last thing an athlete wants to compete on is a cute battlefield. And there was no denying this field was cute.

It was a sand soccer field, but since it was on the beach, you couldn't really call it a field. It was more like a court - 25 yards wide and just 35 yards long. The goals were tiny, not much bigger than the ones hockey players slap pucks at. Waves rolled on the beach. Tourists strolled on the boardwalk Cute.

Now the organizers of the North American Sand Soccer Championships, who showed off the game to media types last week aren't dumb. And the last thing they want before this weekend is for a few cynical media folks (like me) to make fun of something like a pint-sized sand soccer court. So last week, instead of throwing a typical "show and tell" pre-event press conference, they held a "tell and play" version. "We're gonna let you get out there and see what the game is really like", said Dick Whalen, the tournament honcho who handled the "tell" part with a sort of sadistic pleasure. "The field is small, but after minutes, it's going to be 125 yards long".

I noticed a few minutes later that of the fairly big crowd of TV and print reporters at the press conference, only a handful were making the walk across Atlantic Avenue to the beach. Joining our small media group was a bunch of local athletes. Brendan Curley and "Rocket" Rod Taylor represented the Hampton Roads Admirals hockey team, while the Mariners and Piranhas men's and women's professional soccer teams provided legitimate soccer talent. Even the Norfolk Tides joined the fray, sending a ref in the form of radio announcer Jack Ankerson, and a "ringer" goalie (more on him later).

I, three reporters, Whalen's son Matt (a true ringer who plays at Virginia Tech), Mariner Darren Eales and a host of Piranhas ended up on the red team, where we would toil under the watchful eye of Sonny Travis, soccer coach at Virginia Wesleyan. Surveying the teams, I figured that talent-wise - once the reporters were taken out of the equation - we had the advantage. But the gold team had two players who made me nervous - Curley and Taylor. When Whalen talked about fouls, everyone looked at the hockey players, who just smiled and nodded knowingly. And when Whalen explained the "sin-bin" - where players would be sent for gross infractions of the rules - the pair laughed heartily.

As it turned out, my fear was only partly warranted. Curley and the Rocket played tough, but certainly not goon-like (Curley did grab me and rip my mesh scrimmage jersey but it was at the end of the game and he was just goofing around - I think). And they didn't just play tough, they could really play; especially the Rocket, who would go on to score his team's only goal in regulation. But the biggest surprise of the gold team was their goalie - "Rip Tide". I watched in awe as the big, blue shag-covered Tides mascot stopped almost everything that came his way. I started to think Tony Meola lurked under the unwieldy costume. Were it not for the shot Eales slipped past him, Rip was almost perfect.

I was far from perfect, finding out after just a couple of minutes that, as Whalen had promised, the 35-yard field seemed to be four, maybe five times that length. My achilles tendons ached, my legs felt like logs and my lungs burned. I spent a lot of time in the sand, usually after feigning a foot tackle just so I could catch a breath. Once, I ended up on my face after getting knocked down hard - not by Curley or Taylor, but by one of the 100 pound Piranhas.

I soon headed for the bench with my hand in the air. And besides being one heck of a draining playing surface, sand is truly the great equalizer. Things are slowed down so much that even quality players have trouble kicking with accuracy and power. This makes the game interesting. Despite the great players on both sides, our game ended in a 2-2 tie - even after a shootout!

I don't mind admitting I was a little skeptical about this game. Neither do I mind admitting that I limped back to work that afternoon...