#28. Game-Winner (Thursday, June 26, 2003)

What was your best day…of getting caught up in the thrill of competition?

You laugh at that concept of a soccer mom these days, shuttling her kids back and forth from practices and games like her whole life revolves around setting up her children to greatest (perceived) future life success. I guess, in that same vein, my mom would’ve been more accurately described as a piano/math mom. But a “soccer” mom she definitely was not.

I simply did not do any team sports as a kid, and, as every year passed, in the back of my mind I kind of wished I did.

But, as summer after seventh grade approached, and I looked around to see all my classmates with their three or four different sports activities going on, while I had nothing; something in me finally snapped. And one day, when I heard Todd Xing (#45), my best friend and the most unathletic guy in the class, mention off-hand that even he had a soccer practice that day, I really snapped.

I must have been very forceful that night to my parents, because eventually I was able to sign up last minute for the same recreational soccer team as Todd. It was part of this league called the Nepean¹ Hotspurs. And although I did get to wear my favorite number 13, I unfortunately had to concede my intended goaltender position².

But still, I was playing soccer in a league. And despite being “recreational”, the games were actually pretty intense – as I quickly found out when we lost our hard-fought first game 2-0.³

So now, this Thursday evening, it was time for game two. At this cool new field (that we would never play at again) that feels like it’s nestled inside some forest.

We go up 1-0 in the first half, on a goal that I assist on. Then, at half-time, while we’re munching on oranges, there’s a bizarre incident.

(Our coach Demetrio and the other team’s coaches are conversing animatedly on the sidelines)
Demetrio (to us): All right guys, looks like we won.
Todd, Dylan, Francesco, Jason, Mehmed, etc. (I was a bit slow to catch on): We won?
Demetrio: Yeah, we won. That’s it.
Todd, Dylan, Francesco, Jason, Mehmed, etc. (I was still catching on): All right, we won! Sweet.
Other team’s coach: Yes, you won. Because we’re quitting, because you won’t stop harassing our coaches and players.
Demetrio: What are you talking about?
Other team’s coach: (making animated hand gestures) You know what you’re doing. This is unacceptable, and if you don’t stop doing that then we’re going to report you and ban you from ever coaching soccer again.
(after some more background discussions, turns out we didn’t “win”, and the game will go on)
Demetrio (to us): Alright, let’s get back out there guys.
Mehmed (furious): What the fuck was the fucking problem with that fucking guy. What the fuck is he trying to fucking do?
Demetrio: Don’t worry about that. Let’s just play.
(Demetrio would then refer to that team, to us, as the “crybabies” from thereon)

In the second half, they tie it at 1 (with a ball that looks like it hits the inside post, which causes Mehmed to go off again). Then we score to make it 2-1. Through all this, I’m the midfielder running up and down the field like a madman, the adrenaline of competition keeping me from feeling tired at all. Adding to this, I’m also playing without my glasses (for the first time ever)⁴, but it doesn’t seem to affect me one bit. It’s totally amazing: like playing a competitive game pushes your physical capabilities to a level you didn’t know you had.

Shortly after, we get on the offensive again. Peter gets a shot off, which is saved, then there’s a rebound that comes right at me. And I casually just kick it over the sprawled-on-the-ground goalkeeper. And just like that, I’ve scored my first ever real goal. Peter gives me props, and I’m stunned in the moment. I can’t believe that just happened.

The “crybaby team” does mount a comeback, though. They score a quick goal after, cutting it to 3-2. Then, with a few minutes left, we’re in the defensive zone (I was everywhere), and Someleze, trying to clear it, kind of kicks the ball right at my hand. It’s a hand-ball, and a penalty shot.

The other team’s shooter gets ready, I hold my breath, praying that I didn’t just cost us the win, then he shoots. Our goalie Demetrius doesn’t go in either direction and just falls to the ground. But the ball sails high and hits the upper post.

Demetrius looks at us silently celebrating, then points to the place where the ball hit the post: “Thank god he put it there.”

We win.

Nepean was the name of the suburb of Ottawa that I lived in. It used to be its own city until they amalgamated a few years earlier.
Because the goaltender and his backup were already set…I was third-string, technically, but never saw any game action.
I should note that this has far surpassed the “kids all converging around a moving ball like a magnet” form of soccer, which usually ends somewhere around third and fourth grade.
Out of fear of the ball hitting my glasses and them shattering into my eyes. The success of that leads to similar legally-blind endeavors which include dance club partying and flag football.