by Christopher J. Tures
“The Leg” is what my teammates call me. I’ve played soccer for 10 years until this year. During that time, I developed a reputation for having a strong kick that served me well as a defensive player. Unlike music, soccer never came easy for me. I am not a natural athlete. From the beginning, I pushed myself in hopes of becoming an outstanding player.
When I was 12, I joined a summer traveling soccer league. My coach pulled me aside and told me that I was going to be the starting sweeper for the season, the most important position in the defensive line. He told me that I had leadership and excellent defense skills and that sweeper was where I belonged.
I worked hard at every practice and game to maintain my new position. To my surprise, the team selected me to be their captain. I remained captain and sweeper that season and the following two. I was never a star, but my reputation as a defender intimidated my offensive opponents. I loved the game. I went to practice early and came home late, and my teammates and I got along as great friends.
When I was about to start eighth grade, a new coach replaced our old one on our summer traveling team. He changed everything. In the first game, he started me at midfield, a position I hadn’t played since fourth grade. The coach pulled me out of the game shortly after.
My position as captain was also short-lived. The coach removed me without an explanation. I felt as if I were under surveillance and constantly feared being cut from the team. I realized the coach was uncomfortable with the influence I had on the team. He placed another player in the sweeper position as a sort of closure to the way things used to be.
I decided I had to switch to a different summer team. I joined the archrival team, who accepted me almost immediately. I was tentative on this team because the guys had played together since they were six. I quietly accepted a place as starting left defender. We had a great season, only losing to my old team once during the season, then destroying them at the state summer-league championships.
In the fall, I played soccer for the freshman team at my high-school. Once again, my team elected me as captain. Sophomore year I decided to try out for the varsity team at school. I made the first cut, then the second, and finally came the last day of tryouts: final cuts. I finished in the top three for the mile run, sprinted faster than almost everyone else, and was still a great defender. The only thing that worried me was my lack of dribbling skills. Even as an effective defender, I never really dribbled the ball — a skill that the offensive positions require.
The coach posted the names of those who were cut. There were three names on the list. Mine was the third. My heart shattered. The noise blocked the sound of the coaches telling us that we were good players and that they just had to cut some people.
Needless to say, the spark within me flickered and waned as I showed up to practice with the junior varsity. I did not want to be there. It was not where I belonged. The JV coach came down extra hard on me. Apparently he was under the impression that I came with a superiority complex. True, I was low about being on JV, but I kept telling myself, “There’s always next year.”
A week later, the head varsity coach attended one of our practices. This struck me as odd. He had his team. Was he here to pat us on the back, reminding us to be proud to be part of the school soccer program? He pulled me aside afterwards and asked me to play up to the varsity team. A starting defender had broken his leg and they needed a replacement. I acted as if it was no big deal, but I was having a dance party in the back of my mind. Woo!
I started and played every conference game. This was a big deal for me: being the only starting sophomore. I did well, despite my constant fear that any mistakes would make the coach question if I really belonged on the varsity team.
Conference finals rolled around. My name wasn’t on the starting lineup. I thought there was a mistake, but there wasn’t. The coach benched me for the duration of the season.
As disappointed as I was, I could rationalize why the coach made his decision. These were the upper-classmen’s games. I was still a sophomore and “There’s always next year.”
The season ended. That summer, I played on my traveling team, all the time noticing that my peers improved with each week. I may have slacked during my summer soccer simply because I worked two jobs and practiced with my band in the morning. My skills froze in time because I held onto my defender mentality. I rationalized, “What kind of a defender needs offensive skills?”
School came around and so did tryouts. I made the team without question. I was the starting defensive wing once again. I accepted the rookies, and I drove them to games. That created a nice positive vibe in the team.
We won every one of our conference games. Most of them, courtesy of the defense, were shut outs (which were accredited to our goalie.) I was on a total adrenaline high at the first conference game finals until coach called the starting lineup, once again leaving out my name. I was shocked. All I could do was sit on the bench and stare. Not again! Reality sank in. I was done for the season, but I tentatively thought, “There’s always next year.”
When we won the section final game, all the guys reached up to touch the trophy held by our captain. All the guys, except me. That wasn’t my trophy in any way. I didn’t help us acquire it. I just sat on the bench hoping someone would break a leg again so I could play.
The team made it to state, and I pasted on a happy face to keep team morale as high as possible. We lost in the state quarter-finals.
I set my heart on becoming a recognized leader on the team. I started thinking about being captain the next school year. I felt as if I were a shoo-in. I was always a positive force on the team. I worked hard on concentration drills but could also crack a joke when it was time to be funny. Furthermore, I figured I had all the rookies’ votes since I was the only one who cared about them.
The awards ceremony finally came. This was it. I was going to become captain. It was what I waited for: appreciation for all the heart I had poured into the team as well as the sport. The coach went through the standards: “We had a great year . . . each member provided . . . the MVP for this year is . . . thank you for a great season . . .” I grew more and more nervous with every cliché until, “The captains for next year are…”
The identities of the captains are not important, only bear in mind that I was not one of them. I had enough. There would be no “next year.”
Goodbye to ‘The Leg’ meant hello to ‘The Voice.’
My BAND Lucid Groove has been around for about six years. Performing is the thing I love the most. Without soccer, I have time to play and practice. We’re trying to break into the club scene and have more chances to play.
FALL PLAY I took a drama class by accident my sophomore year. After I made people cry, the teacher asked, “Are you in drama?” “No, I’m playing soccer,” I said. Now, I’m going to try out for the next play.
RELATIONSHIPS This winter, since I wasn’t playing soccer, my girlfriend and I learned to swing dance together. It’s nice to feel like I have time for my friends. I don’t have to leave to go practice.