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| These are the moments that will be missed |
He stood there holding his beer in one hand and soon to be
smoked cigarette in the other and talked nervously about his knee. One ACL
surgery already past and the potential for another now looming, he simply
shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, “What are you going to do?”
The injury took place at one of those early Sunday morning
games in Kingston where you drive 45 minutes to play 11 on 8 and, in the
process, cause even those that are closest to you to wonder if you have might
need therapy. He jumped for a meaningless goal kick somewhere in midfield in a
midseason game and took a “slight” bump on the knee (one of his teammates later
told me that he heard a loud popping sound).
Just an innocuous challenge and that was the end of his
game, but now he was considering it a very bad moment in a day filled with
other games waiting to be played. He felt like he had to test it- to give it
another shot.
We stared at him incredulously, questioned his intelligence,
and then slowly, limped right behind him onto the field to play the 3rd,
4th, or 5th indoor soccer game of the day. He lasted
maybe two minutes before his day was most certainly over. A loud scream of
angry resignation and a slow, simmering crawl to the bench was all that was
left.
_______
This post is not about the lunacy of my friend trying, and
ultimately failing, to play through a second ACL tear in three years. That is
only a recent example of the mindset that has pervaded my life for over a
decade. This is how I, and countless other friends, have reacted to a variety
of injuries and ailments over the years. Nothing is serious enough to keep us
from showing up every week.
This is about the last 12 years worth of Sundays (and
sometimes Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and even Saturdays) that I have spent
at RI Indoor/Teamworks in
Warwick, RI.
______
I was going to hold a press conference at the
soccer bar to make this announcement, but it’s so much easier to do without the
fanfare and the crying. I am retiring from the game of soccer after this
session. I know what you’re all thinking. “How will the teams continue without
me?” Don’t worry, I know that somehow everyone will find a way to carry on and
maybe reach those high levels that I have enjoyed keeping us away from all
these years. While I am at it, I am also officially retiring from international
football too, just in case I was in line for a call-up.
(As I was leaving on Sunday, listening to teammates
screaming uselessly at the team we had just played, to a surprisingly
well-played draw for what it’s worth, I realized that if I hadn’t already put
over $300 into this session, I would stop playing immediately. There is no
right or wrong at that point, everyone’s a loser. Life is too short to waste time
on that crap.)
______
This is about weeks of limping for days after games, having
a morass of scrapes and bruises that stretched from above my hip to just above
my knee, pulling off a goalie glove to watch my middle finger flop insolently
across my pinky, scraping an elbow and watching it swell into a staph infection
that left me getting three shots in my ass, or twisting my ankle bad enough
that my entire foot turned into a swirling black, blue, and jaundiced piece of
contemporary art.
This is about watching friends break ankles chasing after a
useless through ball on a gross pitch in Westerly or have fingers that look
like they were designed
by Guillermo Del Toro, or get knocked out going after a header at Cranston
Stadium (actually the same friend as the broken ankle).
(There’s also the side issue of the smell of a soccer bag
after it got left for a week unwashed and the particularly vile smell of goalie
gloves that is something akin to what the bathroom in Trainspotting
probably smelled like.)
I spent the equivalent of over two full years (and I don’t
even want to think how many thousands of dollars) residing in a metal-roofed
shack, alternately sweltering or freezing, all the while causing potentially
life-altering damage to my body both on the soccer field and up in the bar
before, in between, and after games. This doesn’t even take into account the
amount of family dinners, Sunday events, beach trips (I actually hate the
beach, but it seems like a reasonable place to spend a nice summer Sunday),
rounds of golf, and money-making opportunities that have been passed up with
the simple excuse that I have to play soccer. My sister actually apologized to
me for scheduling my niece’s Christening on a Sunday.
I love the game (LOVE it, in fact), watch it constantly,
follow it intensely on Twitter and the blogosphere, and try to know as much
about it as possible. Soccer
just isn’t fun to play anymore.
Partly that’s because I’m not very good. I have heard the
phrase, “Easier to miss brah!”
more than I ever thought possible and I have found more ways to miss an open
net from two feet than anyone over the age of 3. There was a time when I was
pretty solid playing in net, but it hurts too much to try and dive face-first
in front of a point-blank shot when you don’t receive anything more than a
plastic trophy.
I have met an incredible core of friends through playing
soccer. I have had great moments (saving
a PK in the playoffs or scoring the tying goal just before the buzzer for
instance), and all of them will remain important as I move forward, but to quit
playing feels like progress and that really says it all.
When I got back from Phoenix, I told myself that I wouldn’t
fall into the same old rut and that I would push myself to something better. In
fairness, I didn’t fall into the same old rut- I created a new one. Playing
soccer became twisted in my heart with the failure that I felt in coming home.
Soccer turned into the warm
blanket I would wrap myself in and try to pretend like nothing was wrong no
matter how obviously false that had become.
I’m not sure what I will do with Sundays if I’m not at the
soccer place (although I know getting a job will be first and foremost on the
list). I was recently told, “It’s scary because nothing seems to make you
happy. You need to find something that makes you smile.”
Couldn’t agree more. Just a couple weeks more and we’ll see
where that leads.
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