I started in a way I imagine so many others started; in second grade, signed up for the local rec. league. I was the smallest kid on the team, never played before. So obviously (?) the coach decided, I should be the goalkeeper. I didn’t have gloves, my ‘keeper jersey a pinny or an old t-shirt that had to be knotted at the waist to avoid being tripped over during the game. And I loved every minute of it. Now, I don’t know if it was an actual ‘love of the game’ or if it was the prospect of being able to do something on a weekly basis that scared the crap out of my mother that my seven year old self loved. But it didn’t matter, I was hooked. We’d practice once a week, have a game on Saturday, repeat. Fall soccer, spring soccer.
As the seasons went on, my position changed; sweeper, stopper, fullback, midfield. “You want me to play center halfback?! That’s like, all over the field!” I remember the first time I was able to run a full lap around the field. The first time I thought ‘maybe I CAN play center halfback.’ I tried out for traveling teams, made it, got cut, went back to rec., repeat. Switched to forward, ‘trained’ in my backyard with my neighbor, doing sprinting drills and trying to learn scissors and Maradonas and setting up cones for dribbling drills. I played on teams so bad I could have a five goal game and we’d end up on the wrong end of a 10-6 decision and on teams good enough to bring home first place trophies and go undefeated.
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Seventeen Letters 