In honor of the World Cup starting today, I thought I’d offer up my past experience playing futbol on the pitch (that’s soccer on the field for all of you dumb Americans).
I played soccer for I think 5 years in the Belle-Clair soccer league. I don’t remember being bad, but I’m assuming that I was considering the coaches got the fine idea to make me the goal keeper. Goalie, actually, was probably a pretty good place for me. I was tall, gangly, and had lightning quick reflexes. Okay, I was just tall and gangly, but no one looked as cool in the long sleeve striped shirt as I did. Additionally, while all of my buddies were out there running their bottoms off, I got to be lazy and just stand in goal. It was perfect for me.
I have very few memories of these soccer years as they were a looooong time ago and I have killed way too many brain cells since then, but I do remember that over the course of those 5 seasons we were yellow team, the light blue team, and the black team (I think) – and we pretty much stunk every year. Over my entire career in the league, however, there was one constant. There was one great team and everyone knew it. The team wore red and ran roughshod over any team that dared to get in their way:
The Bullets
The Bullets were just awesome and seemed to go either undefeated or near undefeated every year. They had a reputation (even at the tender age of 9) as being a great team. Players hated to play against them and coaches hated to coach against them. You just knew that when you looked at the schedule and saw a game against The Bullets coming up, you may as well just mark an “L” by that date and move on.
Or so we thought
Like I said, my memories of soccer are vague at best, but there are one or two memories that really stand out. One of those memories is from a weekend game in which it had rained horribly the night before. We had taken the field and my teammates were warming up by taking shots at my goal. Me, being the good little boy that I was, didn’t want to make my mom mad by getting all muddy from diving into the mud in my ultra-cool uber white short soccer shorts that came with our uniform. I figured that burning holes in all of my school pants by sliding into base while playing kickball at recess was punishment enough for her so I would try to keep my shorts clean.
Well, one of the coaches (my buddy Aaron’s dad) saw that I was avoiding the mud and came up with a brilliant idea. He halted the warm-ups, came over to me, and basically threw me in the mud. I lay there, pretty much covered from head to toe in filth and knew that both he and I were going to be in trouble. In all actuality, he was already in trouble with my mother because a few weeks prior during a cub scout meeting, he had drawn out for me the meaning of the word “assume” just for me, so he either figured “what’s a little more trouble” or my mother had not gotten to him about that yet. Either way, once he threw me down, he ordered me to roll around and just get covered with dirt which turned out to be a lot of fun. I don’t know if we won or lost the game, but I remember that it was fun being that dirty.
The other memory I have involves The Bullets. Damn those Bullets.
From what I recall, we played the bullets around two times each season. I’m not sure if this was the first or the second time we played them, but either way, this game was going a little bit differently than usual. At some point in the game both the players and the parents realized that we seemed to be playing with this team the entire game. There was a lot of scoring but neither team could really pull ahead. I’m also not really aware of the score at the time this next event happened, but I do know the end result of the game and I feel personally responsible for it to this day.
The penalty kick
I don’t know who or what caused the penalty, but it was late in the game and you could definitely feel a buzz in the air that something big was going down. In fact, I’m pretty sure that all of the surrounding games had been halted and there were representatives from not only the local news outlets, but also from CNN and ESPN there to cover the game. I could be wrong about that, but let’s just pretend that I’m right. Oh, and we were also playing in front of 85,000 screaming fans. At the Bullets home field. In Brazil.
Anyway, as the player lined up to take the kick, I could hear the crowd chanting “BUL-LETS, BUL-LETS!” But, at the same time, you could hear some of the crowd starting to lean our way. It was kind of like Rocky IV where the Russians started cheering for the underdog Rocky because of his undying heart and determination against a heavily favored opponent. In fact, I’m pretty sure this was where Sylvester Stallone got the idea for the plot of that move as he (and many other A-List celebrities) was on hand for the game. The small spattering of people were chanting “SCO-TTY SCO-TTY!” I was pumped! I was energized! I knew how much this game meant and I wasn’t going to let my team, my fans, and the entire world down. This was my moment.
Let’s do this!!
As the kicker looked in I stared him directly in the eyes as if to say “this is my house, bitch, and you best stay clear if you know what’s good for you.” Without losing my gaze, I bent over, grabbed some dirt off the ground and rubbed it into my hands. I then bent over again, grabbed some more dirt, and rubbed it directly into my eyes. That’s right, I was so confident, I was going to stop this penalty kick blind. You heard me – blind.
I heard the crowd gasp in amazement at the audacity of a visiting goalie being that cocky and confident against a team as powerful as the 5 time defending World Cup champion Bullets, but it only fueled my intensity. I soon felt the presence of the ref who had walked up to me to offer me a towel to wipe the dirt out of my eyes, but I merely pushed him away and told him to mind his business. This was between me and the kicker.
After what seemed like an eternity of crowd noise, flashbulb pops, and words of encouragement from my teammates, the referee blew the whistle signaling the start of play. The kicker was free to kick the ball at any time, but seeing as that I was temporarily blinded and playing with a full leg cast (did I fail to mention that before?) – on both legs – I had to wait until I heard his footsteps prior to making my move.
Now, I had come into this game prepared and had watched tons of video on this guy. He always went to the goalie’s left with the ball. Always. This guy had already broken the FIFA record for most penalty kicks made all time. In fact, he had never ever in his life missed a penalty kick. He had something like 12,054 consecutive penalty kicks and 12,054 consecutive goals from them. He was that good. But I had an advantage over him that he didn’t know. I had instincts and now had the support of the entire 85,000 in attendance and the tens of millions watching on TV around the globe. Word has it that once the networks picked up the live feed, our ratings blew the MASH finale out of the water. This moment was that important. The world was watching.
I could hear him breathing heavily from the pressure that my underdog team had put on both him and his team. Having no sense of sight at the moment, my other senses were peaked so I was also able to hear his heart beat. As it beat faster and faster, I knew he was about to make his approach on the ball. I searched my soul for the proper move to make. I knew he would go to my left, but would he go high? Low? I had to make a decision and I had to make it now.
I heard the ball hit his foot and all of a sudden my instincts took over. It was almost as if Obi-Wan was guiding me to trust my feelings. Then, I did something I never thought I would do – I dove right. As I dove through the air I felt the collective breath of everyone in the stadium leave their body as this blinded, double leg casted hero dove the wrong way on a guy that always kicks it the other way. But before they were allowed to recapture that breath, something amazing happened – my hands touched the ball.
In an attempt to fool the blind, double leg-casted goalie, he had gone the opposite way of what he normally does – and I knew it. Having my wits about me, I took all of my years of training plus my amazing natural instinct and pushed the ball over the top of the goal. I had stopped the unstoppable and had done it in amazing fashion. Not two seconds later, the referee blew the whistle signaling the end of the game. We had beaten the Bullets in their own stadium and all 200,000 people (did I say 80,000 before? I meant 200,000) were on their feet cheering, screaming, and dancing because they appreciated this as being one of the most defining moments ever in the history of soccer. Maybe even in the history of the universe!! There was dancing in the streets all over the world as David had slayed Goliath. We were on top of the world.
As I left the stadium to get into my mom’s Cutlass for the drive back to the teams hotel (which hopefully would include a stop at McDonalds for a Happy Meal), I was stopped by an elderly gentlemen with tears in his eyes. “Superman,” (which is what they were now calling me), he said “Superman, I have lived on this earth for darn near 100 years, and in all my time, never have I seen anything even half as courageous as the display that your team, and you in particular, have put forth today. I can now die a happy man. May I hug you?” And with that, he embraced me and I felt the life leave his body. He died right there in my arms a happy and fulfilled man.
At least that’s how I remember it.
It could be that there really was a penalty kick and while diving to my right I did in fact stop the ball. It could also be that while holding the ball, my entire body was behind the line so the referees signaled it a goal. I’m not sure if that’s the right call or not, but that’s the call they made. We didn’t beat the Bullets that day, but we did tie them 5-5 which was a huge accomplishment for us.
I kind of like the other story better.
Have a great weekend and thanks for reading.
I played soccer for I think 5 years in the Belle-Clair soccer league. I don’t remember being bad, but I’m assuming that I was considering the coaches got the fine idea to make me the goal keeper. Goalie, actually, was probably a pretty good place for me. I was tall, gangly, and had lightning quick reflexes. Okay, I was just tall and gangly, but no one looked as cool in the long sleeve striped shirt as I did. Additionally, while all of my buddies were out there running their bottoms off, I got to be lazy and just stand in goal. It was perfect for me.
I have very few memories of these soccer years as they were a looooong time ago and I have killed way too many brain cells since then, but I do remember that over the course of those 5 seasons we were yellow team, the light blue team, and the black team (I think) – and we pretty much stunk every year. Over my entire career in the league, however, there was one constant. There was one great team and everyone knew it. The team wore red and ran roughshod over any team that dared to get in their way:
The Bullets
The Bullets were just awesome and seemed to go either undefeated or near undefeated every year. They had a reputation (even at the tender age of 9) as being a great team. Players hated to play against them and coaches hated to coach against them. You just knew that when you looked at the schedule and saw a game against The Bullets coming up, you may as well just mark an “L” by that date and move on.
Or so we thought
Like I said, my memories of soccer are vague at best, but there are one or two memories that really stand out. One of those memories is from a weekend game in which it had rained horribly the night before. We had taken the field and my teammates were warming up by taking shots at my goal. Me, being the good little boy that I was, didn’t want to make my mom mad by getting all muddy from diving into the mud in my ultra-cool uber white short soccer shorts that came with our uniform. I figured that burning holes in all of my school pants by sliding into base while playing kickball at recess was punishment enough for her so I would try to keep my shorts clean.
Well, one of the coaches (my buddy Aaron’s dad) saw that I was avoiding the mud and came up with a brilliant idea. He halted the warm-ups, came over to me, and basically threw me in the mud. I lay there, pretty much covered from head to toe in filth and knew that both he and I were going to be in trouble. In all actuality, he was already in trouble with my mother because a few weeks prior during a cub scout meeting, he had drawn out for me the meaning of the word “assume” just for me, so he either figured “what’s a little more trouble” or my mother had not gotten to him about that yet. Either way, once he threw me down, he ordered me to roll around and just get covered with dirt which turned out to be a lot of fun. I don’t know if we won or lost the game, but I remember that it was fun being that dirty.
The other memory I have involves The Bullets. Damn those Bullets.
From what I recall, we played the bullets around two times each season. I’m not sure if this was the first or the second time we played them, but either way, this game was going a little bit differently than usual. At some point in the game both the players and the parents realized that we seemed to be playing with this team the entire game. There was a lot of scoring but neither team could really pull ahead. I’m also not really aware of the score at the time this next event happened, but I do know the end result of the game and I feel personally responsible for it to this day.
The penalty kick
I don’t know who or what caused the penalty, but it was late in the game and you could definitely feel a buzz in the air that something big was going down. In fact, I’m pretty sure that all of the surrounding games had been halted and there were representatives from not only the local news outlets, but also from CNN and ESPN there to cover the game. I could be wrong about that, but let’s just pretend that I’m right. Oh, and we were also playing in front of 85,000 screaming fans. At the Bullets home field. In Brazil.
Anyway, as the player lined up to take the kick, I could hear the crowd chanting “BUL-LETS, BUL-LETS!” But, at the same time, you could hear some of the crowd starting to lean our way. It was kind of like Rocky IV where the Russians started cheering for the underdog Rocky because of his undying heart and determination against a heavily favored opponent. In fact, I’m pretty sure this was where Sylvester Stallone got the idea for the plot of that move as he (and many other A-List celebrities) was on hand for the game. The small spattering of people were chanting “SCO-TTY SCO-TTY!” I was pumped! I was energized! I knew how much this game meant and I wasn’t going to let my team, my fans, and the entire world down. This was my moment.
Let’s do this!!
As the kicker looked in I stared him directly in the eyes as if to say “this is my house, bitch, and you best stay clear if you know what’s good for you.” Without losing my gaze, I bent over, grabbed some dirt off the ground and rubbed it into my hands. I then bent over again, grabbed some more dirt, and rubbed it directly into my eyes. That’s right, I was so confident, I was going to stop this penalty kick blind. You heard me – blind.
I heard the crowd gasp in amazement at the audacity of a visiting goalie being that cocky and confident against a team as powerful as the 5 time defending World Cup champion Bullets, but it only fueled my intensity. I soon felt the presence of the ref who had walked up to me to offer me a towel to wipe the dirt out of my eyes, but I merely pushed him away and told him to mind his business. This was between me and the kicker.
After what seemed like an eternity of crowd noise, flashbulb pops, and words of encouragement from my teammates, the referee blew the whistle signaling the start of play. The kicker was free to kick the ball at any time, but seeing as that I was temporarily blinded and playing with a full leg cast (did I fail to mention that before?) – on both legs – I had to wait until I heard his footsteps prior to making my move.
Now, I had come into this game prepared and had watched tons of video on this guy. He always went to the goalie’s left with the ball. Always. This guy had already broken the FIFA record for most penalty kicks made all time. In fact, he had never ever in his life missed a penalty kick. He had something like 12,054 consecutive penalty kicks and 12,054 consecutive goals from them. He was that good. But I had an advantage over him that he didn’t know. I had instincts and now had the support of the entire 85,000 in attendance and the tens of millions watching on TV around the globe. Word has it that once the networks picked up the live feed, our ratings blew the MASH finale out of the water. This moment was that important. The world was watching.
I could hear him breathing heavily from the pressure that my underdog team had put on both him and his team. Having no sense of sight at the moment, my other senses were peaked so I was also able to hear his heart beat. As it beat faster and faster, I knew he was about to make his approach on the ball. I searched my soul for the proper move to make. I knew he would go to my left, but would he go high? Low? I had to make a decision and I had to make it now.
I heard the ball hit his foot and all of a sudden my instincts took over. It was almost as if Obi-Wan was guiding me to trust my feelings. Then, I did something I never thought I would do – I dove right. As I dove through the air I felt the collective breath of everyone in the stadium leave their body as this blinded, double leg casted hero dove the wrong way on a guy that always kicks it the other way. But before they were allowed to recapture that breath, something amazing happened – my hands touched the ball.
In an attempt to fool the blind, double leg-casted goalie, he had gone the opposite way of what he normally does – and I knew it. Having my wits about me, I took all of my years of training plus my amazing natural instinct and pushed the ball over the top of the goal. I had stopped the unstoppable and had done it in amazing fashion. Not two seconds later, the referee blew the whistle signaling the end of the game. We had beaten the Bullets in their own stadium and all 200,000 people (did I say 80,000 before? I meant 200,000) were on their feet cheering, screaming, and dancing because they appreciated this as being one of the most defining moments ever in the history of soccer. Maybe even in the history of the universe!! There was dancing in the streets all over the world as David had slayed Goliath. We were on top of the world.
As I left the stadium to get into my mom’s Cutlass for the drive back to the teams hotel (which hopefully would include a stop at McDonalds for a Happy Meal), I was stopped by an elderly gentlemen with tears in his eyes. “Superman,” (which is what they were now calling me), he said “Superman, I have lived on this earth for darn near 100 years, and in all my time, never have I seen anything even half as courageous as the display that your team, and you in particular, have put forth today. I can now die a happy man. May I hug you?” And with that, he embraced me and I felt the life leave his body. He died right there in my arms a happy and fulfilled man.
At least that’s how I remember it.
It could be that there really was a penalty kick and while diving to my right I did in fact stop the ball. It could also be that while holding the ball, my entire body was behind the line so the referees signaled it a goal. I’m not sure if that’s the right call or not, but that’s the call they made. We didn’t beat the Bullets that day, but we did tie them 5-5 which was a huge accomplishment for us.
I kind of like the other story better.
Have a great weekend and thanks for reading.
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