More Than a Game

I stood over my soccer bag, rummaging around for my bottle. It was a fall afternoon, but the heat of summer never really left California before December. We were only halfway through the practice, and the whole team was already panting from conditioning and laps. The rest of the team began prepping for the next exercise, but I stayed back for more water. I then noticed my coach standing nearby, mumbling something about the players on the team. He turned and realized I was listening.

            “I know I’m probably not supposed to tell you this, but we have a grading chart for all the players on the team,” he explained. “You’re like a B.”

            I was stunned by the frank statement, but only for a moment, as I had to meet up with my teammates. I was a B? As ridiculous as it sounds, I had never gotten a B before, and I didn’t want soccer to be the first. Then it dawned on me who the only player on the team with an A would be: Sean. Sean was the coach’s son and one of the fastest kids in the league. No goalie could stand in his way. He had the stereotypical soccer haircut, buzzed on the sides and long on the top.

            Sean was a quieter kid, although most of the team believed it was because he was too good for us. I could remember him laughing to himself when other players messed up, but I

could also remember him staying quiet whenever I beat him. It was at that moment I was determined to show my coach that if I was only a B, so was Sean.

            I jogged over to my teammates who were all talking about their classes and the latest tv shows they had been watching. Neither Sean nor I said a word.

            “Alright, for the next drill, we’re going to be playing steal the bacon,” the coach said as he sauntered towards us. While it may not sound like it, “steal the bacon” was a pretty difficult exercise for soccer. The coach would call two players to race to the ball and make a goal before the other. Typically, he would let us pick our opponents, but once he asked who wanted to go against Sean, no one answered. Everybody was worried that he would easily overpower them. But not this time. I volunteered to go against him, and the rest of the team paired off.

            We were instructed to lie on our stomachs off the field and wait for him to call us off. The coach placed the ball in the center of the field and observed all of us on the ground. My jersey clung to my skin and the itch of the grass heightened my discomfort, but nothing was distracting me from when we would be called. The first group sprinted onto the field and fought over the ball, but I wasn’t really watching. Sean lay right next to me, waiting for the time to charge. It felt like we were on the ground for an hour. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, all I could hear were the thumps of the soccer ball against cleats and the scuffle of dry grass.

            “Cole and Sean!” the couch shouted. Before he had finished speaking, we darted towards the target. We were neck and neck, approaching the lone ball. Sean managed to hook the ball with his toe before I could reach it. He kicked the ball a few feet forward, but I blocked his attack and gained control of it. I started rushing towards his goal post, but he slid in front and kicked the ball away from both of us. He brought it close to my goal, but I stopped him from making the shot and attempted to bring it back to his side. Neither of us could keep the ball away from the other.

            Then we heard the whistle blow. Apparently, we had taken too long, and it was time for the next group to try. We walked off the field, but the coach said nothing. From that practice on, I would always offer to play against Sean. Coach put me on defense for every game afterwards, and we had a pretty successful season with Sean playing forward.

            Looking back, I wonder if my coach was trying to push me harder or if he was just being plain honest. Sean and I didn’t talk to each other often, but there was a silent respect we had for each other. I may not have beaten him, but I proved to the coach that a grade didn’t determine how well I could play.