The better you look, the better you feel, the better you play. It’s all relative, no matter what sport you play or game you compete in. Confidence on the field gives the player ability to be calm and collected, while intimidation runs rampant throughout the opposing team. If executed correctly, faking confidence is almost indistinguishable from genuine confidence and can be equally effective.

Many times when I’m nervous, faking confidence can be the edge I need to steady my nerves. After years of practicing the art of confidence, I even fool myself and exerting confidence becomes easier and easier.

Stomach turning and excessive trips to the porta-potty located at the far end of the field were the main symptoms of my team, ranked 12th, before playing San Juan, the number one seeded team in the state. A better team means a bigger game, bigger nerves.

My team huddled up before the starting whistle, everyone threw out a few encouraging words. “We can do it” and “c’mon guys” seemed to be the go-to sayings. We comforted each other as we stepped onto the field. Pairs would do their typical handshakes making their way to their starting positions. My two best friends and I did ours right in the center circle before kickoff. It seemed like any regular game – and then the whistle blew.

It was the final game in an important tournament. In Ripon, CA, in the middle of the summer, it  would be foolish to expect anything less than 100 degrees – in the shade. The sun was scorching every inch of my body and the black jerseys didn’t help. Sweat poured down my face because the heat and nerves combined, but I wasn’t alone. All 22 players on the field were experiencing the same sensation. I had the first touch of the game, a perfect roll right to my best friend. We were ready to play, and I knew that this would be a battle.

Corner kick, San Juan up for the header, off the post. We lucked out – there wouldn’t be another chance like that in the entire game. Our opponents knew it too judging by the frustration on their faces. For both teams, tension between the front and back line was building, and half time came at just the right time, as everyone needed to take a step back before the tension took over the game.

The ten minutes of half time came and went with a few gulps of water and a short talk from our coach. Much like the first, the second half was nerve-racking and still 0-0 by the end.

Straight to penalty kicks. The first five takers were chosen by our assistant coach. We walked out to the halfway line and sat in order. First was my best friend, then me, followed by our other best friend.

Sweaty palms and shaky hands. This was the most nervous I had ever been in my entire life. They made two and we missed one. I was up. I looked down the line of my teammates, it was hard to disguise nerves like this, they had sweat dripping down their faces and bloody knees. As they started their spirit fingers, I knew it was my time to step up. “Whenever you’re ready” my teammates mumbled trying to relax me before I stood up for the most important shot of my life. Slowly I walked out to the white dot between the six and twelve, and for the first time in my life, I couldn’t even begin to fake being confident. My nerves got the best of me and I riffled a shot. An inch the wide of the right post, there was a huge smile on the goal-keepers face. I missed.

San Juan’s light blue took over the entire field. They ambushed their keeper with high fives and a group hug. I stood almost three yards away, watching and fighting back the tears.

It was my fault we lost the entire tournament. I was disappointed in myself, but more than anything, I let my team down. I knew this feeling was one that I would never let myself experience again. I have not taken a penalty kick since.

I am not afraid of a lot of things; I can squish a spider or chill next to a bee, but penalty kicks will always be something I run far away from.