Soccer Comes to Town: My Soccer Story Part II

Click here for Part I of this story. And stay tuned for the final part of the essay soon. Have a story of your own? Submit it for publication consideration in the contact form.

So, there I was at the ripe old age of 11 thinking that I had exhausted all sporting options and that I would never realize any athletic successes beyond the occasional grand slam in kickball. Then soccer came to my tiny town and the course of my life was indelibly altered. By this time my younger brother was old enough to join a team as well. As fate would have it, we were placed on two different teams. All the teams in our intramural league were sponsored by township businesses. I played for “Act III Coiffures” and my brother played for “Clark Hardware”. Games were on Saturdays and at the end of the season the top two teams played for league champion title, a trophy, and months of bragging rights! If you haven’t already guessed it, Clark Hardware was destined to play Act III Coiffures for the title! Not only was the title on the line, but there was NO WAY my team was going to lose to a team on which my younger brother played. The match was close and late in the game the score was tied at zero – zero. I was playing fullback and was having a great game shutting down wave after wave of attacks. Then came the unthinkable. I was inside the penalty box and setting up to defend an oncoming attack. My opponent struck the ball and sent it sailing on a trajectory that would take it just over my head. Without a millisecond’s thought, my arm shot up and I swatted the ball from the air! In an instant the referee was upon me with a yellow card raised high in the air. He promptly picked up the ball and moved to the 12 yard line where he placed the ball on a small, white circle that was painted on the field dead center on the goal. For those still unfamiliar with the rules of soccer, I had not only broken the rule about touching the ball with your hand, but I had done so in the penalty box, which meant the other team was automatically awarded a PK – a penalty kick. Within seconds it was all over. The kicker for the other team drove the PK shot past our hapless keeper straight to the back of the net. Believe it or not, I would go on to have two more handball calls in that game, though fortunately not in the penalty box. We lost the game (and the championship) by a score of something like 3 to 2. I was crestfallen, but at no point did the thought of quitting soccer cross my mind. I was hooked on the thrill of the game and I had found the sport which would be part of my life to this day.

Click here for Part I of this story. And stay tuned for the final part of the essay soon. Have a story of your own? Submit it for publication consideration in the contact form.