All About G

Today I worked my first ever football game. It just kind of sucks that it ended in a 31-17 loss. Unfortunately, the Bombers won’t be heading into playoffs. The last game of the year will be the Cortaca Jug next Saturday.

Watching them lose was very hard for me, not because I’m a student at IC and they are my football team, but because I could see and feel the frustration the players were feeling. And I could understand and empathize with it. It was hard because they’re my team, but I haven’t been with them more than 2 weeks. We don’t have much of a connection, not like Jackie, the senior who’s been with them since pre-season. Indirectly, the athletic training staff is a member of the team, but it’s hard to have that connection when you yourself haven’t been with them that long.

So because of this, I found it hard to do much of any interaction with the athletes after the game. If they asked me to wrap ice, or check/re-dress a wound, I did so, the only words I’d give them being “Okay, you’re all set,” or “the bus is that way.” There was only one athlete I said more to, and it wasn’t even all that much: “Just get past this and do good in the game next weekend. You got this.”

I can’t tell you what ‘this’ is, except that, if you’re an athlete yourself, you’ll understand.

Once we returned to the training room on campus, I ran into Andrew, a defensive lineman. I had remembered that during the game, he hurt his ribs (someone stepped on him, I think?), and so, I asked him “How are you feeling?”

And perhaps I should’ve been more frank and said “How’s your chest?” Because I’m pretty sure he took that as a naive girl’s attempts at trying to be consoling, and so, he replied, slightly sarcastically “Just peachy.”

I’m really glad I’m good at biting my tongue, because I was tired, I was cold, I was freaking out because I was dealing with an emergency involving a friend (it’s been sorted out, more or less), and my first impulse was to say “Quit bitching and whining. You’ve got Cortaca next weekend and then a chance again next year.”

And like I said, I’m glad I kept my temper in check. I went back to my room and looked up the roster, figuring I might as well learn SOME of the football player’s names before I finish my rotation with them after Cortaca. And there I discovered that Andrew is a senior, meaning he has no more chances after this.

Immediately, I thought of my last soccer game. By last soccer game, I mean last career soccer game. Intramurals don’t count. And no, I didn’t feel bad, because I was still annoyed at him. I’m not naive. I know first-hand how it feels to lose the game that ends your playing career for life. I know how it feels to not only lose that game, but to also lose horribly. 3-0 is a decently sized point gap in soccer. It was the same thing that happened today that happened 4 years ago to me; our team just wasn’t finishing like we usually did. An off game, and it’s a shame that everything ended because of an off-game.

I doubt they’re aware of my history. And it wouldn’t be surprising; it’s not like I’m playing soccer now. It still irks me that they seem to just assume without a doubt that I’m just a girl that has no experience with the blood sweat and tears you sacrifice and the heart your pour into to being the best you can be and win. And it irks me that they seem to think that I don’t understand the pain of that career-ending loss. I understand better than you think, boys. I just wish I could express that better with you. But it’s really hard to talk that intimately with people I don’t really know.

Throughout the game today, I was continuously brought back to that game. I couldn’t even begin to convey the frustration I felt during the second half once they scored goal after goal, 3 within 20 minutes, it was ridiculous. And then the heartbreak. I couldn’t stop my tears. And I fought with all of my willpower. I had too much pride to show that kind of weakness. And as I was receiving the little 2nd place medal and honors, nothing I did stopped the crying. Actually, writing about it and remembering it is making me emotional all over again. My eyes keep watering up even as I type this.

This is the passion and love I have for this sport. I just wish I could tell the other guys that. Not that it really matters at this point, since I’m only spending, what, one more week with them anyway. It’ll be just like the soccer team; once I finish my rotation, we won’t even glance at each other and say “hi” in passing =/

Comments (1) Nov 06 2010

Wednesday, after writing that blog post, I went to talk to Coach Quigg. I think it was probably one of the more terrifying moments of my life.

I don’t know if you would ever guess looking at me, but when it comes down to my skills, I’m not confident at all. Playing in high school, I was told I was good, but I was also told that I wasn’t good enough. I don’t think the people who talked to me realized what they were saying when they said it, but the message came across as clear: “You did good, but that girl over better is even better.”

Was it to try and motivate me (I’m a highly competitive person) to work harder? That might have been their intentions. Unfortunately, while I’m competitive, my self-esteem is terrible, so if someone tells me I’m not good enough, then it comes across as “You’ll never be good enough.”

I’m not trying to single him out, but Dad did that a lot. I don’t think he knows that he was even doing it (he tends to be oblivious to absolutely everything). But hearing him critique my gameplay, and then turn around and talk about how Mike Guerriere was “amazing,” (And yes, Mike is/was(?) an amazing player, probably one of the best in our region. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made it as far as the National Team) really ground it into my skull that my skill level had reached a plateau and that I couldn’t climb any higher.

What knocked me down and out were tryouts my freshman year at IC. I didn’t make the first cuts, and it was so disheartening for me; it just solidified my belief that I’d never be good enough. I wasn’t fast enough, my footwork wasn’t accurate enough, my leg wasn’t strong enough, I wasn’t good enough.

It was when Kristen talked to me that I thought “Well, maybe I am good enough after all.”

It was just a Friday AT hour in the training room, and Kristen and I were talking about soccer. She had nearly made the varsity team herself, but was cut after injuring her ankle. And I’ve seen her play. Hell, I’ve played against her. I played her team in the championship intramural game last block, when I sustained my concussion. She’s an amazing player. And we were just talking about soccer and missing it, and she then suggested that the two of us work hard over the summer and then try out in the fall.

At first I was resistant. Why bother, knowing that I surely wouldn’t make it? And I let her know that I probably wouldn’t make it. That I felt like, ever since the cut, the varsity team was on an unreachable level.

And then she had told me “I’ve seen a lot of people play, in intramurals and stuff. And I really think you could make it.”

Coming from a peer in the sport, especially one who was as good of a player as she was, gave me that spark of hope.

So I went to see Coach. I told her about the mistakes I had made, and how I missed playing and how I wanted to try again. She didn’t turn me down whatsoever. Instead, she told me “Come up to practice Friday at 6.”

And I did. And I was amazed with myself. I’m behind a little with skills since it’s been a really long time that I’ve played on that kind of level, but I held my own. I did good. And Coach agreed with me. She had let me know that I was a little behind, but I had very good speed (I’ve always been fast on the green — I was known as the deer/gazelle, when I played in high school). And she was very encouraging that once I got back into the swing of things, I’d be on that kind of level. And she invited me to go back again, tomorrow morning at 8am.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am now. And I’m going to go to bed now, before it gets too late. I gotta get my rest (at least some) so I can manage to get up early.

In the meantime, I’m going to bed thankful that Kristen talked me into trying again. If she hadn’t, I’d still be miserably living in my room, wishing I could be as good as them, instead of knowing that I’ve got the potential, and that I will be as good as them, if not better.

So thanks a ton, Kristen. I don’t think I could ever thank you enough.

Comments (2) Apr 09 2010