They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. When I say that, I’m not referring to an old book from 12th grade English class, but a simplistic and accurate description of adolescence. There were electric highs and dismal lows throughout this trying time in our lives, but I think something we can all agree on is that if we didn’t have each other and the sport we valued with a passion, we wouldn’t be half the human each of us is today.
Because of numerous summer jobs, scholarship applications and chores I forgot existed, I haven’t taken the time you all deserve to display my deepest gratitude for all we’ve been through. This letter is for you. To reflect on the memories, cherish the times and thank each and every one of you for all the criticism, for the confidence, and for seeing me as not just a player, but a person. You guys were and will forever be my comrades in battle.
When I first started this journey, my expectations were that I would learn to score a few goals or at least have killer thighs, but what was to follow my many years of soccer was exceeded expectations, something a person is rarely blessed with. Most of us started off as strangers, coming together from different schools and a very different perspective on life. We were hesitant to talk at first, that is, until after the first practice. Within weeks, we were joking about coach’s insanely long juggling circles, the overdramatic screaming of sideline soccer moms, and having daily debates on whether a braid, bun, or ponytail was the most efficient game hair. As our skills progressed, so did our image of each other.
A perfect dynamic isn’t created without its imperfections, and we were nowhere near faultlessness. Players came and went, in part because of our urge to keep the team original and familiar. Others molded right in and joined our army, ever rallying against opponents on and off the field, raging into battle to protect one another from an ACL tear or heartbreak. When the injuries to both body and heart happened, you all were right by my side, bringing flowers and invaluable advice. If there’s anyone you don’t mess with, it’s a girl’s lifelong teammate.
And then we grew up. Time turned to lightening and suddenly, I was driving to six graduations, watching you guys—my talented inspirations—move on to the bigger and better things you were destined for. Each of you had your own special mark and spark that added to the imperfectly perfect thing I call my team. Thank you for every long ride home from practice where we laughed so loud my dad thought we must be psychotic. Thank you for providing me with endless amounts of pre-wrap when I repeatedly snapped mine across my head. Thank you for despising suicides and push-ups just as much as I did. Thank you for unknowingly providing me with second families and six other sets of parents. Thank you for the advice, the hard work and the undying support for everything I ever was and ever will be.
They say so much of sports is about athleticism and improvement of skills. Maybe that’s true when looking at the outside view of this journey, but the most valuable asset I gained from the non-stop seasons of cleats and shin guards is you all. My steady, devoted reminders of home, happiness, loyalty and the love of the game.
Sincerely,
#8
P.S. Thanks for the orange slices.
