Great Moments in Soccer - Selection #4
His Best Shot Ever
After years of being a first team player, 15-year-old Steve was playing his first season on his club’s second team and was struggling psychologically. He was used to playing with players aspiring to play in college. Although his new team had some good players and some players who cared, there were not enough to compete against the good teams. And a few players didn’t care at all. One teammate, Holden, a club bigwig’s kid, epitomized everything Steve hated. His main objective in practice seemed to be trying not to be noticed or sweat. I can’t believe I have to play with Holden, Steve thought. I hate him.
Steve was embarrassed. He was embarrassed he didn’t make the first team; he was embarrassed to be playing with Holden; he was embarrassed to be on a losing team. And he knew his embarrassment would culminate Saturday afternoon when he’d play his neighborhood team – the team he’d be playing on if his family didn’t have history with his current club. And his team would lose; he knew they’d lose.
Steve was too old to fake illness, though he thought about it. Maybe he could fake an injury or tell his neighborhood buddies he was just guest playing for the second team. But Steve wouldn’t or couldn’t do any of those things. He lined up to play the game and prepared to be miserable.
And when the whistle blew, and the ball started moving Steve was shocked – it was worse than he ever imagined. Goal after goal poured in followed by celebration after celebration. Celebrations so choregraphed Steve remembers one player jumping on a horse shooting pistols in the air and another lighting off fireworks and the opposing team’s parents performing Michael Jackson’s Thriller dance like some sort of Flash Mob. Steve was belittled and ashamed.
Then the opposing team’s best player, a Polish kid named Bartek, had Holden one v. one out wide. Holden, the lazy-ass himself, the teammate Steve hated most, who’d been beat repeatedly the entire game. This time Bartek nutmegged Holden, then immediately nutmegged him again and then, after waiting for Holden to recover, for, you guessed it, one more nutmeg. Steve no longer hated Holden, he hated Bartek. Embarrassment turned to rage. As Bartek closed in on the goal, Steve was prepared to maim him, but he never got the chance. Bartek shot and missed.
Steve retrieved the ball, set it down, and lined up to take the goal kick. Bartek stood at the edge of the penalty box jumping up and down taunting Steve: “Play my feet, I’m open. Right here buddy-o!” he announced to Steve and anyone else in earshot. The penalty box, for some reason, wasn’t regulation. It was only about eight yards from Steve, who was brimming with hate – unfiltered, overwhelming hate and vengeance, hate for everything and vengeance on behalf of Holden. The same Holden he previously hated but now felt sorry for. Steve approached the ball but instead of launching it down field, he shot it. He shot it at Bartek, who was still jumping and taunting. Steve struck straight through the middle of the ball and exaggerated his follow through. The ball didn’t even have spin. Bartek the taunter, in mid jump, had no time to react as the ball smacked him just above his pierogis and below his naval. Guys, you know the spot: close enough to your business to send shockwaves through your internal organs and blur your vision. The ball thudded away as Bartek let out a gasp and the air left his body. He crumpled to the ground, while staring stupifiedly at Steve, who wasn’t finished. The ball rolled back to Steve like a slow, smooth kickball pitch, and he kicked it again into the prone Polish kid’s shoulder, just inches from his exposed and outraged teary-eyed face.
After that game Steve and Holden became friends, although Holden still didn’t try very hard. Steve made the first team the next season. He’d be known for his long distance serves and cannon of a leg. He’d score a few goals in his career, but if asked what his best shot was, he’d always say, “There was this really good Polish kid, he was taunting this friend of mine Holden…”
