Soccer Reflection

I have learned no matter how hard you try there is always someone better, and there is always someone to take your place. We are replaceable. So what makes a player invaluable?

I have dedicated most of my life to the game of soccer and I feel in a sense cheated. I feel like there was some sort of return that I missed out on. When I was younger I spent hours in my backyard kicking a blue and white ball. What for? Why did I let my free time turn into juggling, shooting, dribbling, and trapping?

I remember standing in front of my stairs in the winter flicking the ball up the first step, then challenging myself to hit the second step, then the third step. I would go

all the way to the top of those 13 steps and when I messed up I started all over again. Then I would do it with my left foot.

I would takes cones and set them up in a zigzag. I would dribble around each with a different move and shoot at the kick-board my dad built me. If I messed up I would do it over and over again till it was perfect. Often I missed the board entirely which happened to be on the edge of a gully so I would run down and get the ball and sprint to the top as fast as I could.

I had a book called Cobi Jones Soccer tips. I read it and took every word as law. He said to get better at juggling start with a balloon and work to a beach ball and then to a volleyball and finally to a soccer ball. I did every step religiously. I practiced every day I could. I would set a goal each night and try to beat the goal I set the night before. I told myself, “tonight I will get 80.” I stayed out until I got 80. Sometimes it was really dark and my mother would call me inside. I would tell her to go back inside because I will be in after this try. She would turn on the porch light and I would juggle and juggle and juggle until she took the ball away. I got so angry and frustrated with myself for not reaching my goal.

I learned what I did wrong and I practiced obsessively to change my errors.

When I learned how to shoot properly I mimicked the technique

without a ball until it became instinct for both my right and my left.

I lived and breathed soccer. My room's ceiling slants down like a goal does and we put net wallpaper on that side of the room. My carpet was the closest to turf I could find. The walls had soccer balls stamped on the lower half which was broken up by a boarder of a soccer player dribbling the ball, and to top it off the top portion of the wall all the way to the ceiling was blue with clouds- mimicking the perfect soccer day. My bed spread was white with black soccer ball on it with ma

tching pillow cases. I also had soccer ball string-lights hung up.

I started playing when I was 7 years old. I had a short bowl cut for a hair style. I played with the boys. I remember my coach asked my mom if her son had ever played.

After that year I played with girls and my coach talked to my parents about me having a natural talent.

I continued playing soccer in the summer and fall until it was my turn to play in 7^th grade. I managed the modified team when I was in 6^th grade just to watch the team and be in the atmosphere.

The team I played with my 7^th grade year went on to win every game we played. I got my picture in the newspaper kicking the ball.

After that year I got moved up to JV in 8^th grade. I started every game.

9^Th grade I was JV captain and MVP of the team until the end of the year when I was moved up to varsity during their sectional game. I played 10 min. in the sectional game and got my picture in the newspaper beating a girl.

10^Th grade I started most of the games and won a award for making the most assists all season.

I graduated early so my last year of soccer I started every game. Coach was able to put me in the defense, midfield, and forward position at a whim. I was awarded the “Miss Diversity” award.

The two years at Southern I was captain of “Just for Kicks,” an intramural team.

Now I have been on the Cardinals team for two years, and this year as captain.

What does this all mean?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I feel like Solomon saying, “this too is meaningless.”

I cannot believe I have spent my life following, and worshiping this “god.” I feel deceived.

My position was taken from me this year. I am now a forward/outside wing. In the beginning I was not bothered, but every game is a constant reminder that I failed. I feel the jealousy eat away at me and I am sad. I know now that I have been playing for my own glory. It's sad that it took such a blow to get my attention. If this is the fruit of my game I fear I have been motivated by the wrong spirit. I cannot say an outlandish statement such as soccer is bad. I can only say this: the god I was serving was my own passions and desires which have left me empty and discouraged.

Often times people say,"Sarah, you are such a beast," or "Sarah your skills are sick-nasty." Sick-nasty? Beast? hmm perhaps I missed all the warning signs...

So, what makes a player invaluable?

Playing with the right motives and for the right God.