Whenever someone asks me if I play soccer, my answer is always "not well". Does this mean I am secretly a Man U prodigy being bashful, or God awful trying to disguise my lack of talent with humor? Depends on who you ask! If you ask me, I am just being honest. Playing soccer in high school, I was not the best or the worst on my team, I had my fair share of starting games and warming the bench, some days I was scoring past the toughest goalies and others I was getting megged by a girl with mediocre footwork. Despite all of this, I continue to answer the age-old question in the same earnest fashion; which usually prompts the follow-up question of "Then why do you play?" And the more I am interrogated, the more ridiculous this routine banter seems. So many people can't fathom the idea of not only actively participating in, but also eagerly engaging in something purely out of passion. If I had decided to abandon soccer just because I was not conventionally good at it, I never would have realized my love for it.

     I would like to say this journey of self-discovery was all my doing; but I will give credit where credit is due. As corny as it sounds, it belonged to a boy; a really cute boy named Ethan who sat next to me in AP Geometry and religiously exchanged gum with me all of our fall semester of sophomore year. One day in the midst of swapping a bubblegum for a watermelon, he asks me what I'm doing after school next Wednesday. My heart races imagining going on a date with him but I coolly reply, "Depends what you have in mind." Not missing a beat but definitely misunderstanding, he suggests "You should come try out for the soccer team!" I'm taken aback but scramble for words before confessing, "I don't even know how to play." "Try to get the ball in the opponent's goal and keep them away from yours... and no hands unless you want to be the goalie. Easy stuff," he assures me. Before I can reply, the bell rings and he makes me swear I will see him there, so I reluctantly agree.

     I tried to gather the necessary materials and feverishly cram as much 'Soccer for Dummies' as humanly possible with just my week's worth of a warning. When the first day of tryouts finally rolled around, I was anxious for the final bell to ring. I spotted Ethan as soon as I reached the field, showing off with tricks I did not even know the name of, and his face lit up when he saw I kept my promise. Before anything else could unravel, a tall bald man I recognized as the automotive's instructor screeched his whistle and yelled, "Huddle!" Everyone ran over to encircle him so he could speak. "Today tryouts are unisex," he barked at us, "The female coach is out, so for now I'll be Mr. Pitter and Ms. Klinger. First things first, suicides!" I had no idea what suicides were but I could gather from the name and the collective groan that followed that it wasn't going to be fun. Not wanting to ask Mr. Pitter to elaborate, I just followed the herd - apparently suicides for our soccer team meant running half a lap to reach the home bleachers, up and down the 8 aisles of said bleachers, then running the rest of the lap to repeat that on the away bleachers... by the time I comprehended this Ethan and some other guys were already sprinting up the third aisle. By the time I made it to the third aisle, I realized how terribly out of shape I was and what a grave mistake it was being too enchanted by blue eyes to forget that.

     I quickly made up my mind that I had enough; I walked back down the bleachers toward the deadpan sunglasses-clad coach who was leaning against the railing monitoring us stragglers. "This is too much for me," I admit, "I'm just going to go." I lingered still, as if I needed his permission but he didn't even flinch. Instead he asked in his thick Nigerian accent, "What is too much? Suicides are supposed to be grueling." I shrugged because I did not have an excuse; I just knew my stomach was throbbing and I did not want strangers seeing me struggle for last place. He turned to me, "Well I cannot make you stay. If you quit when things get a little hard, you would not make the team anyways." Now that stung, and rightfully so. I've never been the type of person to get going when the going gets tough but that was when the going was a hard equation for math team or conquering a lengthy monologue for a play, not hyperventilating from feeling my heart in my throat! I was standing idly next to him letting those words sink in when the last of the bunch cleared the first bleacher and Mr. Pitter decided to call it with a whistle blow and another demand for a huddle. I hesitantly stepped into it, too unnerved to leave all of a sudden. I could too make the team, if I wanted, mind over matter and all that jazz; so when he announced the next drill, it was the opposite of a suicide. As in, I killed it. I'm sure I saw the tug of a grin on Coach's face that I might prove him wrong. For the rest of tryouts, Ethan did not even cross my mind.

     Fast-forward to the roster being posted outside of the school garage, Ethan was the first to congratulate me on making the team. Mr. Pitter was the first to brief me that every girl who tried out made the team due to a female shortage... "Guess who made the team anyways," I teased. He rolled his eyes, "Because you stayed. Now keep staying when it gets hard for the rest of the season." That's exactly what I did. I stuck it out through every instance I felt like my body would give out on me, and she never did. Because of that, I learned the names and executions of the tricks Ethan was doing before tryouts, I found out I'm quite the ankle breaker among the girls' and guys' teams, and I understood more of the rules and terminology from watching USWNT games. I felt more than ready for the season to begin.

     I quickly learned however, that being an MVP among a gang of ragtag players did not make me a match for the teams we played. Our 4A school was in a league among the Columbia County district - who bred players that eat, sleep, and breathe futbol as opposed to football like Richmond County. Every single game was cut short by a mercy rule, meaning our opponent scored so many goals that there was no way we would make a comeback. It was certainly disheartening that I had pushed myself from nothing to be great, only to have that hard work not pay off during the only time it mattered! That rude awakening took such a toll on me that my progress seemed to stall, then shrink. I slowly lost my adrenaline-fueled high when I realized this wasn't like the other affairs in my life that came naturally- I thought once I put in the work before the season that that was the hump and the season would just be a showcase. But the way those Columbia County players effortlessly danced around me while I gave that ball my all humbled me every game; especially our last game of the season. It was against a fellow ragtag team, but a version from that side of town was still better than us on their worst days. It wasn't until in the midst of my pity party, watching those girls rejoice in disbelief that they were on the winning side of a mercy rule for once, that I had my epiphany - maybe I don't have to be a great soccer player to enjoy being a soccer player. So during the good game lineup, I adjusted my goal from being better than everyone to just being better than I was yesterday.

     That summer, I joined Mr. Pitter's intramural team to stay on my toes. I spent the fall semester of my junior year conditioning with Ethan and all the friends I had bonded with the previous year. I begrudgingly executed the suicides for the first time in January 2016. I was so in shape that competing against Colombia County felt more practical and I kept my grades at an all-time high so I could stay on the team. So not only did I discover my passion for soccer, it brought about positive changes in my life, and taught me significant lessons along the way. My favorite being that sports do not build character, they reveal it. I could have so easily sauntered away from tryouts, retreated back to scholarly matters when we lost our first game, or threw in the towel whenever practices felt pointless... sure at times I was a terrible sport about it but I saw it through nonetheless! That's because my desire to be successful greatly outweighed any embarrassment I suffered when I gave something my everything, even if I left with nothing. Now years later when I think back to it, I am so grateful I did not let my fear of incompetency hold me back from telling people why I do not play soccer very well, but continue to anyways.

Copyright © 2020 by Kiera Hughes

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