The Ultimate Goal

“Let’s get our heads out of our behinds and into the game,” exclaimed Coach, which is accompanied by the sprinkling of his spit, which we have all gotten used to.

I think Coach is going over the game plan, but I can barely focus. Even if I wanted to focus I can’t even hear him, and I think everyone else is just nodding along, pretending like they understand. I decide to lay down and do some “stretches,” which is my way of zoning out without getting noticed. As my head reaches the ground, the stadium light begins to get brighter, like a train barreling down the tracks, and I begin to feel like I got hit by a train. I did not notice how tired I was until this moment. Even though the sun has gone down, the humidity makes it feel as if we playing in a sauna. As I close my eyes, I began to notice every detail. The crowd roaring and the cheerleaders performing their last-minute halftime routine they threw together once they found out they had to be at this game. This is the first play-off game in the college’s soccer history, for either program, men or women, so the athletic department went all out. This was an environment that the team has not played in, as we usually get around 200 people in the stands, and there were more like 2,000 tonight, not including the men’s soccer team who are standing on the stairs of the bleachers, too excited to sit down, or the cheerleaders who were forced to come. I feel the grass began to itch, and the sweat and dirt begin to sting. I sit up just in time for the team captain motivational speech. She begins to mention the crowd that I had just heard ringing in my ears moments ago. The team has never made it to play-offs, and it shows. In the first half of the game, we gave up three penalty kicks. Luckily, they missed two and our goalkeeper saved one, keeping the score tied at 0-0. However, the other team has had what feels like a million shots on our goal, while we had only one goal-scoring opportunity the whole forty-five minutes. I glance over to see the refs beginning to walk towards the field, meaning that half-time is over. I hope we make it to the next game so I can actually listen to the captain’s speech, I’ve heard it’s really inspirational, but I always zone out. I stand up and head back out onto the field, getting ready to fight for another forty-five minutes. 

The score is still tied at 0-0, and the fans ramp up as the clock begins to wind down. There are about 10 minutes left in the match. My legs ache and my lungs burn, but our team has gotten better this half. Instead of how we played in the first half, which was all defense, we are getting more shots on goal, and I think their goalkeeper is actually starting to sweat. This means I get a break, which I definitely need since I have been running back and forth from our goal to mid-field mark. I try to enjoy this small break I am getting now, but the other team now has the ball, and they are coming down the field fast. Number 11 on their team has the ball and maneuvers around the first defender. They pass to number 7 and manages to get by the other defender, leaving just me and the goalkeeper in between the goal. All of a sudden three more players from their team are down on our side of the field, and I try to hold them off until the other defenders can get back, but all of a sudden, one pass, two passes, and the ball is behind me, so I turn, put my head down and run. The goalkeeper rushes number 4 and dives for the ball, and number 4 just lifts the ball up and chips the ball over the goalkeeper. I run around the two players and kick my leg out, hitting the ball behind me. I cannot see who is behind me, or tell where the ball is going, but all that matters is that the ball isn’t going into the goal. I quickly turn and realize the ball went straight up into the air. I jump and head the ball down to the ground and quickly begin a counter-attack, passing it to number 7 on my team, who takes a long pass to number 14. The crowd roars and the scoreboard changes, 1-0. 

The score stayed the same so we won the game and we managed to beat our second playoff game, moving on to the third game. The goal that I saved in the first game got me a lot of attention. I am only a junior, but I have the credits to graduate early, and a lot of talent agents knew that. I was getting call after call, asking for me to sign on with a manager so they can train me and start putting my name out there for professional teams. I decided to sign on with a manager who helped a teammate of mine from freshmen year get to the semi-professional league in Europe. The most appealing of this offer from him though is that the choice to try and go pro or finish my college career is up to me. Every other manager told me that I had to go into professional camps right away to “not waste my talents,” but it is not such an easy decision. I wish it was, and I would love to play professionally, however, if I stay the extra year, I can graduate with my friends, and get my minor, which would help my career after soccer.

I try not to let my emotions make that decision, but I only have a month until the season ends, and a month to submit to my college my final transcript for graduation. I look for everyone’s opinions, my friends, my family, my manager, and my coaches. My friends want me to stay, my coaches think it’s the ultimate opportunity, and my family just wants me to be happy. Every time I turn on the television, a soccer game pops up. I was driving to a practice one time, and GPS took me a different route to avoid traffic, and it so happened to take me by a billboard for my professional home team, so a literal sign. One of my professors pulled me aside after a test and told me to pursue science. My left hip begins to give me trouble at practice one day. I am hyperaware of every minute that passes, yet the days fly by, and every day, a new sign pops up. 

Three weeks have gone by, and I now only have a week to decide. I cannot sleep, so I decide to make use of my time. It is 6:45 a.m, and I decide to go on a run. I did not stretch, I did not hydrate beforehand, I just ran. I thought I was training, but I knew I was running from the decision. After a hard run uphill, up the bridge that overlooks the river, I stop. The sun is just beginning to come up, and the world is starting to wake up. I check my phone and see the text I ignored from my agent last night. The same sinking feeling hits in my chest, but I thought it was because I have been running for about two hours now. The phone starts to ring before I can even dwell on the thought of texting him back. Each ring manages to match the increasing loud heartbeat thumping my ear. This whole time I have been looking for a sign on whether or not to stay an extra year in college or to graduate early and try to go pro, while the answer was right in front of me. Well more like, inside of me, I have been ignoring my feelings, ignoring my pain and my worries. The phone reaches its third ring meaning I have one more chance to answer. I look over at the birds flying over the water, their feet and beaks barely scrape the surface. I look at the fish fins peeking out of the water, and the ripples and slight waves that they create around them. I look at how the sun is just waking up, and how the moon is just going to bed as it disappears over the horizon on the other side and I finally feel peace. I put my phone away and take one last look at the earth around me. I decide to cut my run short, and head back down the bridge, feeling confident that I now know my answer.