States
The shark-looking giant number 9 received the ball from a floating throw-in and powered a header from behind the penalty spot. The ball arced high as our tall keeper stood paralyzed, watching. Our entire school had been brought out to watch. The ball embraced the back of the net. The referees blew the whistle and the State semi-final was over. All I could think was, I should have been in that goal. The season was over. A lot of key seniors were leaving. It had been another year on the bench for me and now our dream team was gone.
“You have to play keeper next year,” my teammates told me in the hallways. I’d been a keeper my whole life up until high school. They used to call me ‘el afro volador’, which means the flying afro. I was excellent when I was little, but I stopped being a keeper in 8th grade out of pride and a desire to score goals. That didn’t work out. I was much better at being a keeper.
The season came around was time to don my gloves again, and so I convinced my coach to make me captain. It was my senior year and I knew I had to take responsibility for the team. They were going to need me to really show up. I needed to bury my fears in the dirt.
The season began and I started out sloppy. I had to travel back in time and get back my technique, because we had no goalkeeper coach to train me. I remembered how to make saves, my instincts were intact, and my reflexes were an ace. Then, the hard teams came along with their fast players and slick dribbles and we started to perform. I almost always knew where the ball was going, it was fate, magic, and a love for the game that made everything come together at every save. I a had ton of key saves. I led my defenders, they made their tackles, stayed on their men, and saved me more times than I could count. Our forwards guarded the ball up on their half of the field, and allowed everyone else to go push up. They never got tired and they scored when we needed it. Our midfielders kept their composure and dictated the tempo of the game. We have our coaches to thank for our cohesion. Our wingers sprinted and scored, throwing the other teams off balance. We went on long winning streaks.
We ran infinite sprints under the blazing sun during practice, and there was sweat, blood, tears, talented freshmen, and brotherhood. We won districts. We won regionals. We traveled upstate and won the State semifinal. Our connection as teammates was essential for us to make it all the way to the finals, because the truth was that we cared about each other, and we were willing to put everything on the line to win.
It was nighttime in Deland, Florida when the kickoff whistle blew. The first pass was made and the State Championship began. The amount of pressure that night was unreal. I couldn’t think about anything except the the present movement of the players and the ball. I made saves, we defended, they attacked. They were quick and robotic and physical. The pressure was relentless, every play was a chance to score on both sides. Perfect focus was the name and core of the game. On a free kick, I ordered one of my players to get out of the wall. “Get out,” I shouted. He wouldn’t let me see the ball. He got nervous and didn’t budge. I got distracted. The whistle blew and they rifled a shot slightly under my left arm and it slammed into the net. 0-1. I couldn’t see the ball. I was furious. I lay on the ground suffering a momentary defeat. I bolted upright and we got our act together. It was now or never. The game raged on. Back and forth back and forth. Saves. Saves. Opportunities. Guts. Clashes. Injuries. My vision and my emotions were HD. The crowd on both sides fought for their sides, sending their cheers, hearts, and fears onto the field.
We had a throw in, it went to one of our defenders, and with skill and dedication he fired a magical, impossible ball from 30 yards out. No one could believe the quality of the shot. It curved powerfully into the top right corner. Their keeper couldn’t do anything. His half-hearted dive was riddled with disbelief. We scored, and we went crazy. 1-1. We were back in the game. They weren’t going to take this from us. I knew we were going to win when we scored that goal. Then, with a minute left, the other team slotted a pass through our defense and their fast muscled #9 received it cleanly halfway down the field. He pushed the ball towards the goal. He was in control. It was a one on one. I paused and charged out like lightning, forced his shot, parried it with my left hand, and it deflected out behind the goal. I saved the game in the 90th minute. I was applauded. I had just extended our team’s lifeline. The referee blew the whistle and we went into extra time. It was golden goal. Whoever scored first would win.
The pressure increased. My legs felt wobbly, and the field became a dreamscape. We got a throw-in, our forward received it, turned swiftly, keeping the ball tucked under his right foot, and placed it beautifully next to the the top corner of their post. It bounced into the goal in slow motion. It was magical, like I said. Fate. I sprinted out, and I couldn’t believe it. I felt a feeling of elation, of the pressure being released, and my heart warming. I sprinted into the middle of the field to celebrate. We won the State Championship for the first time in school history.