For the love of the game

For me and soccer players of my generation, it all started with orange slices at halftime, shin guards over our socks, plastic gold trophies, and playing games like “Sharks and Minnows” on a grass field at the community park.

We celebrated our achievements: making the traveling team, juggling the ball 100 times in a row, understanding the four principles of defense, watching our heroes bring home the 1999 World Cup. We learned from our failures: missing the penalty kick, failing the fitness test, sitting the bench.

We worked hard and dreamed of the day a college recruiter would offer us a scholarship to play Division 1 soccer… because that’s what we were promised…

Instead, we box up our childhood trophies, take down our Olympic posters, and try to forget all the memories because the nostalgia hurts too much. We distract ourselves with classes, internships, and yoga, and it won’t be nearly enough, but it will help the time pass just a little bit faster. We will wait patiently until the first time a new hobby or job makes us feel part of something bigger than ourselves again. When it comes, and it will come, we just might let that little girl with the grass-stained knees and red Gatorade-stained lips flash a smile as we drive by a soccer practice at the community park.