I am a lifelong lover of athletics. Growing up, I played just about every sport involving a ball. Of all the sports I’ve played, soccer is, by far, my true sports love. I played on a soccer team from age five through high school. Having focused on the same sport for all those years, “soccer player” became central to my adolescent identity. It gave me a sense of self that I wouldn’t have had in my otherwise awkward teen existence.
High school graduation marked the end of my soccer career. When I said goodbye to soccer, I also left behind a built-in social network and created a huge athletic void. Once I got to college, I quickly realized I missed the camaraderie of a team and the joy of playing a sport. Fortunately, I filled that athletic void by joining Binghamton’s lacrosse club. (I’ll save that tale for a future blog.) I was back to square one when I started law school, though. Despite taking up jogging, I felt adrift without a team sport to play. When my law school friend invited me to join his team, I jumped at the chance. It was from that experience that I learned an important life lesson: sometimes, it’s best to quit while you’re ahead. Especially if you want to keep your head.
Here’s my story…
Take a shot
Although I worked incredibly hard to gain admission into law school, I must admit that I didn’t particularly enjoy law school once I got there. Unlike college, the law school workload was far more intense than my most demanding undergraduate courses. Plus, socializing with my classmates felt more like networking events. Like we were all practicing for future job interviews over drinks. If it weren’t for my closest law school friend and Trinidadian native, C, I probably wouldn’t have survived those three arduous years.
Unlike me, C was easy-going and relaxed about everything. Lucky for him, he was also a naturally gifted legal scholar. So, basically, he was the complete opposite of me. One day, while we were studying in the library, I mentioned to C how much I missed playing soccer.
“Come play with me this weekend,” C suggested. “It’s a big group of guys, and it’s lots of fun.”
“Guys?” I asked. “Are there any women who play?” Other than when I was young, I hadn’t played co-ed soccer in a while. I could only imagine how it would go. The last time I’d experienced sharp elbows and shoves was playing co-ed football in college. And the male opponents could also be tough.
“There was a woman who had come once or twice,” C said. “But you’ll be fine. Trust me.” I’m no math whiz, but a 5’7” woman with a slim build vs. guys who probably outweighed me by at least thirty pounds didn’t seem like we’d be on a level playing field. Still, even though I didn’t quite trust C about being fine, I really wanted to play. And at the time, I didn’t have any other options.
Get the ball rolling
Despite my misgivings about the level playing field, I met C and his friends at an indoor soccer field one Saturday night. A quick introduction to the players revealed that they were all from various Caribbean islands, a place where soccer reigns supreme. And oh, there were no other women. So much for a level playing field. Watching C’s friends warm up, I knew these guys had grown up with soccer balls attached to their feet.
The players decided that I’d be on C’s team, along with three other hulking men. The other team’s players were just as beefy. After listening to some spirited trash-talk about one another’s skills, appearance, and a few R-rated jokes about their mothers, I had a bad feeling about how the game might go. I didn’t say “go easy on me,” but I was hoping these men would.
To say that I was out of my league (pun intended) would be an understatement. Everyone was an amazing player. Think professional-level skills. Even my good friend C, who was a full-time student like me, seemed like he had practiced for hours every day. As for me, well, that’s a different story. I was rusty, out of practice, and probably more than a little bit intimidated. But even if I were in top form, I wasn’t even close to being on a level playing field with these guys. They were that good.
A league of my own
The game was aggressive, fast-paced, and filled with a steady stream of good-natured insults that would be inappropriate to print in this family-friendly blog. Thankfully, being new to the group and clearly in a league of my own skill-wise (as in, not a good one), I was spared from their sparring. I was also spared from scoring any goals. Every time someone passed me the ball, it was promptly taken away by the opponent. Although I played horribly, it was kind of fun to be back on the soccer field. I didn’t mind that I had a few new black and blue marks. At least no one slide tackled me. I guess they went easy on me after all.
When we went out for drinks after the game, I finally felt like we were on a level playing field. Too bad it was at a bar, and not on the field. C was right about one thing: the players he hung out with were fun. Even though I was embarrassed about how awful I played, the guys were nice about it. I even agreed to come back again the following Saturday night. In hindsight, I should have quit while I was ahead.
Head’s up
The second time around, I thought I knew what to expect. While the years of being away from the sport and not having the time to practice had taken their toll, I was up for the challenge. I loved playing soccer, even if my joy was slightly diminished by being the absolute worst person on the field.
Making matters worse, there were some new players at the game this week. Bigger ones than last time. And some of these people weren’t as friendly or fun as the guys from the first week. Rather than being silly and cracking jokes, these new guys were playing to win.
Once again, C and I were on the same team. But there was a different energy this week. C, who always joked around, was more serious once the game started. I looked around at the group composition and realized I was the odd (wo)man out yet again. I didn’t want to be on this playing field, level or not. But it was too late to walk away.
Low blow
When C passed me the ball, instead of the opposing player just taking the ball away with a swift kick, a new guy, who looked like an imposingly thick tree, used the opportunity to slide tackle me. I deftly jumped over his legs, losing the ball in the process. If this guy’s objective was to establish dominance, he certainly made his message loud and clear. Honestly, it wouldn’t have taken much. He could’ve flattened me like a pancake. Which he may actually have been contemplating.
Now I’m all for playing competitively, but I’m fairly certain everyone knew that I was outmatched in this crowd. Since this was a casual pick-up game where the final score didn’t matter other than for personal pride, I didn’t feel that it was necessary to go all-out. At least towards me whenever I got the ball (which became increasingly rarer as the game went on). I thought we were all there to have fun. The objective of having fun would’ve put us on a level playing field. But it wasn’t.
The objective was now to crush the opposing team.
Corner kicked
Sure, I sucked. And everyone knew it. Had I known how the vibe of the game would change with the new players, I probably wouldn’t have shown up. But there was no turning back. So, I’d just have to tough it out and play until the game ended. However, when that same tree trunk of a man came at me with full force—right when I had a decent shot on goal—I saw my life flash before my eyes. Just as I kicked the ball, he slid into me. Hard. This time, I fell down in a heap. Not wanting to show weakness, I quickly jumped up, refusing C’s hand. Thankfully, my ego was bruised more than my body was. (Though for a few days, my sore leg sported a huge black and blue mark where the guy rammed into me.)
In my case, the joy of playing soccer with this group had completely evaporated. It wasn’t worth getting injured simply to rekindle the feelings from “my good old days.”
While I went back to play with C and his friends one more time, I realized that the door for my playing soccer into adulthood had slammed shut. To borrow a line from an old movie, quitting while you’re ahead isn’t the same as quitting. Sometimes there’s a benefit to shifting directions to achieve your objectives. Which is ultimately what I did.
Win-win situation
Perhaps if I’d tried harder to find a group of players that were closer to my skill level, my soccer career could’ve been extended. Though frankly, I realized that soccer wasn’t going to be one of those lifelong sports I could continue playing into my old age.
Over the years, I’ve realized that one of the things I loved most about soccer was the connections with others through physical activity. And although it took me several years, I discovered a different sport to revive from my childhood: tennis. When my two sons were old enough to take tennis lessons, so did I. Very quickly, I was hooked. Finally, I filled my soccer void.
Thanks to tennis, I have found “my people.” Although tennis is a different kind of team sport from soccer (mostly because, for doubles, your partner is your team), it’s still enjoyable and social. And nobody will ever slide tackle you.
At least not on purpose.
Do you recall any childhood memories that had a strong impact on you later in life? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
