When I was four I played co-ed soccer. We had purple jerseys and I rocked a yellow barrette on team picture day. There were two things I enjoyed about soccer – the quest for a licorice rope after every game and the opportunity to feast my eyes upon PJ, my first crush. PJ was a little boy with straw colored hair, freckles and a strong belief in cooties – which meant we had never spoken to each other. Luckily my mom was able to document this time in my life by hiding behind a bush to snag a picture of him at our end-of-the-year party. PJ is still frozen in time in a family photo album.
A few years later I signed up to play soccer again, but this time on an all girl’s team. You’d think this time around I would be more focused on the sport and less worried about the people around me, but you are wrong. (I could have made a joke about my sexuality here but decided against it.) My best friend and I played side-by-side on the field as left and right fullbacks. Instead of helping the goalie protect the goal, we would sing songs, talk, and sit in the grass picking clovers. Go team!
I still hadn’t learned my lesson by the time fifth grade came around – the lesson that maybe soccer wasn’t my sport. (Honestly I should have been training to hunt for truffles to put my clover hunting to use.) My friend’s select soccer team needed one more player though so I volunteered. I should have known after the first practice that this was a big mistake on my part. I had yet to lose my baby fat and constantly felt like I was going to pass out from all the running we did at practice. I made it through the season – barely playing and never scoring. I humbly gave up soccer that year.
College rolls around and my friends want to play intramural soccer. I now know myself well enough to realize that I’m not good at soccer because 1) I have bad hand/foot/eye coordination and 2) I am not aggressive. When I think I’m being aggressive I’m really just fouling people. (My token move is to stop right in front of someone and make them plow over me.) I warn my friends of my weaknesses and they assure me our team is just out there to have fun. I spent most of the season running in circles and passing the ball to the wrong players.
And finally, I have reached the present – where soccer has asked me once again to shove on my cleats and pull out my moves. I got an email the other day inviting anyone from the office to participate in a soccer game against another startup – a battle of the startups so to say. “Oh, oh, oh – fun, fun, fun!” I quickly replied-all asking if this was a serious or fun match. The first response was something along the lines of “we will crush them.” The second response was a Youtube video highlighting a major soccer victory in history. I decided not to get in the way of my team’s victory and only participate in a soccer practice. (Leave the game to the big dogs.)
At practice it became evident to me once again that soccer will never be my sport – but no one, and I mean no one, can take away my token move.
Align. Stop. Be plowed over.
