Dedication to the game is a necessity for any competitive athlete. The majority of higher level coaches require attendance from all players injured or not. For me, now a permanent bench warmer, it’s hard to watch as each game and practice pass me by.
It has never been the fun, little drills that I play for; it’s the competitive edge that’s found in a game that has always been my passion.
For this exact reason, the first weekend of April was undoubtedly the most agonizing weekend of my life. This state cup was supposed to be my last before making a verbal commitment to play in college, my primary goal since the third grade. Not participating in this tournament was out of the question, or so I thought.
The only thing worse than missing a big tournament, watching as your team falls apart on the field, is not being able to do anything about it. I took my normal seat on the bench, one over from the left end, but I wasn’t seated next to a player warming up to be a sub. This time it was my team’s starting sweeper struggling with mono. We both knew we had to do our duty to keep the team’s spirits up.
My team cruised past the first two matches with wins bringing us to six points, one behind our third and final opponent in the bracket. A win from this game would shoot us into the round of sixteen.
Halftime flashed by and my team was down a goal. It seemed as though the world was coming to an end. We were only one goal down, but our center mid was in tears nonetheless. The defense fought to keep the ball out of our box, but the offense just wasn’t connecting. The constant pounding on the defense took a toll, and a minor keeper error resulted in a goal, shooting down any last hope for a comeback. The occasional uplifting words from the sideline had no real effect on our downcast spirits. After 70 minutes of frustration, nothing but a long, tearful drive back from Sacramento awaited all sixteen players.
I noticed two scouts right when the final whistle blew–blue hats, small foldable chairs and pencils in their left hands. Typical scouts, but not my typical reaction.
Usually I get butterflies in my stomach and my nerves start to kick in, but this time I got angry. Not at the scout, not at myself, but at soccer as a whole. My dedication for the game has always been inevitable, but for the first time I felt like all the hard work of my last 14 years had been for nothing.
It was clear, my dedication to soccer has been a one way street.
