| �Come on, Mom!� It was 5:45 in the morning and time for soccer practice. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, with soccer equipment in hand, yelling for my mom to get out of bed and drive me to the school. �I�m going to be late!� I shouted as my sleepy eyed mom appeared at the top of the stairs. I pushed her, wearing flannel pajamas and a leather coat, to the car. I always feared for my life on the morning drives. My mom is a bad enough driver wide-awake in the middle of the day; she really did not need to be operating heavy machinery that early in the morning. Somehow she always dropped me off at the back door of the school with minutes to spare. After a trip inside to drop off my 3 bags of stuff, I made my way out to the practice fields. The team lined up behind me, the junior varsity captain, without a word and we started to jog through the dewy darkness. I couldn�t see my hand in front of my face, but I know the lines of the fields so well that I didn�t need to see. I led the girls around the field. Already we smelled of sweat and bad breath from the girls who didn�t brush their teeth before they came. Our warm breath hit the chill in the air and created a cloud of steam around us. We came to a stop and I began to lead the stretches. Everyone was swaying and coming close to tipping over from lack of balance that early in the morning. I began every day of those months pushing my body to its limits and watching the sky turn amazing colors as the sun rose. It�s such an odd feeling to experience so much physical pain at the same time as you are seeing something so beautiful. It�s like the pain became beautiful. It was a great way to begin the day. Part of the reason I enjoy playing on those fields so much is that there�s a part of me that comes out when my foot crosses the white chalky lines of the field. The soccer field is its home. As soon as that whistle is blown I turn into a loudmouth, aggressive bitch that tells her teammates what to do and beats up on the other team. I actually have scared some people who have never seen me on the field before. I noticed a couple of weeks ago that there are a lot of girls on crutches at Southwestern. Then someone pointed out to me that co-ed intramural soccer is in session. �Coed soccer is not for wimpy girls. I played with muscular, 6 foot tall men over the summer. I never sprained my ankle, and if I had gotten hurt you wouldn�t have seen me on crutches,� I bragged. My friends at school don�t see this side of me and were taken aback. When they see me, I�m either quiet as a mouse in class or being extremely goofy. My senior year I didn�t get to show that side of my personality. I had seen it happen to other girls before me. They were seniors�wonderful players. Their only downfall in Coach�s eyes was that they each were a little hefty and were not quite as fast as the rest of the team. But they made up for it with their knowledge of the game. These girls who should have been starting players were made to sit the bench all season, playing an occasional ten minutes. This too was to be my fate. I, admittedly, am not a runner, but my senior year I made my fastest times in sprinting drills and mile times. I was in better shape than I had ever been in, but sometimes I pushed myself too much. When I did this I was susceptible to illness. I got sick the week of tryouts. I didn�t get to be there that week, but Coach had seen me play all semester and knew what I was capable of. I went into her office to talk to her on the morning of the last day of tryouts. She asked me to sit down in a chair next to an overflowing bag of soccer balls. I looked around at the pictures of our team from the past four years as I waited for her to finish a phone call. She hung up and turned to me. �I think I�m finally over my cold,� I told her. �That�s great I�m glad you�re feeling better. Now about soccer�I just want to let you know how much I appreciate your devotion to the team. And I wanted to tell you now that I�m not cutting you from the team, but you won�t be seeing much, if any, playing time this season.� I felt my face getting warm and my lip gently quivered. My heart raced; I had had a feeling this would happen. �Now you have some options,� she continued. �You could stay on the team, work out with us, go to games, and plan on sitting the bench. You might get some time on the field every once in a while. Another option is for you to become the team manager.� Team manager! Is that how little she thinks of me as a player? Maybe I should take over your job instead! �If you were our manager you would come to the games and still be able to hang out with the team. Your other option is to quit. You�re really good for the girls and this team really needs you. I hope that you�ll stay with us in one way or another.� |
| A Girl with Balls |
 |
 |
| Spring '01 |