College taught me more life lessons than I would have ever thought possible, but it is soccer that crystallized them. AYSO, Region 14 in West Torrance is the first established organization of youth soccer in the United States. Thousands of children have come through registration, picked up their uniforms, and stepped out onto the school soccer fields of the South Bay.
I started playing soccer in 1977. I was eight. Mr. Soufl, Mary Jo’s dad, was our coach. I’m not sure who named our team, but we were the Green Machine after that ridiculous plastic bike with shifting gear steering, an attempt by some toy manufacturer to imitate the highly popular Big Wheel bike, but for older boys.
We were a good team that first year, and coaching had so much to do with that. Practices were organized, focused, and, for the first time, I learned about soccer. I did not just practice; I began to internalize how to play the game. I would stay in AYSO for another nine years, playing in the fall until high school soccer began and, each year, with new coaches, different uniforms, and a changing of the guard in teammates, additional lessons were plentiful.
Soccer taught me how to survive any challenge, any situation. It taught me how to ask for help, how to rely on others, how to anticipate, predict, and respond accordingly. Soccer taught me to listen to direction, to exercise caution while simultaneously succumbing purely to an instinctive abandonment, and to approach situations with an outcome in mind. It taught me that you can live a lifetime in ninety minutes.
In my first year at West High, I was put on the Varsity soccer team. I was just fourteen. Despite being strong, I was inexperienced compared to the other players. Just Monica and I, the only freshmen on the original team. I felt small in those first days, playing with and against girls that were all older, some even eighteen.
It was raining the day that I stepped onto the soccer field to start my first game. Santa Monica High School had the worst soccer field, filled with potholes, a serious lack of playable grass, and a reputation for players who played dirtier than the field itself. Even when closing my eyes today, I can remember, with full clarity, the nervousness building in my gut, the feeling of tension and excitement as I took my position at center back. Just before the whistle blew to begin the game, I felt a hand on my shoulder, the sweeper, Janetta, a senior, standing behind me, her voice resounding in my head, “I got your back.”
There were days at practice where we did not touch a soccer ball for the whole first half. We ran. We did sit ups, push-ups, we lifted weights, we worked on positioning, but we did not touch a ball. My high school soccer coach, Andy, believed (and made us believe) that if we could not outplay another team, we would outlast them. He trained us to embody that belief. The four years that I played for Andy, I was in the absolute best shape of my life, and I learned how to take care of myself physically, how to rehab injury, and how to enter any challenge believing that I was destined to be there. I did not always feel that way, but I was taught to believe it.
Even Leonel Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo, Lindsay Horan, Mia Hamm or any other professional player will tell you clearly that they cannot win the game alone, regardless of how ridiculously talented they are. In this sport, you need your team, and not just to have someone to pass to. You need them to guide your decisions, your play, and to influence the moves that accompany your choice of turn. There are moments in a soccer game where everything slows down and if you have the experience and training, you can see where the ball is going next, you can anticipate, so clearly, the way that a foot will turn, or a body will slide, and that predicative ability transfers over into life situations.
We each build our life teams. Family, friends, colleagues, and those we want to bring into our fold and to whom we give a uniform. They become our starters and our bench players, the ones that will be there whenever we need them, each with different skills and ideas, each offering a wide range and depth of support as needed.
There are days when I don’t feel like I can go to my husband for advice, but I can go to my best friend. There are moments when I turn to my colleagues but avoid my neighbors, and there are many times when I know I can rely on my siblings, especially when life is at the pinnacle of difficulty. These individuals are my team; each offers a different skillset, most notably the ability to understand me which, given my nature, is not the easiest thing to do.
Soccer taught me to be brave, and not to fear loss or failure. Each time I practiced or stepped onto the field for a game, I knew that I had earned the right to be there. I was entitled to nothing; I had to earn it. With hard work, talent, and determination, even when I was unsuccessful on the field, I knew that I could rebound, learn from my mistakes, and move forward.
I love soccer. I miss it. My friend, Laura, got me to play on Sundays for a while, but my body, at fifty-five is different than it was even just a few years ago. I expect it to be, but it reminds me that there are more than a few miles on this engine. So, I settle for kicking the ball around. I have also chosen a professional team to support, yelling freely at the television, jumping up when they score or win. But I do miss it, the competition, the pushing yourself to the edge with ninety minutes of pure battle, the camaraderie, and the dedication.
Even without the games, the strength, courage, trust, and grit that I learned from my teammates, many of whom I still speak with today, resonate with me. In soccer, there is no room for rumor or backstabbing, no space for gossip or complaining. When you are an athlete and truly one piece in the eleven, any of that minutiae is immediately set aside and you are one unit, dependent upon one another, moving in space, in sequence, a delicate dance of skill and beauty.
The game speaks to those who played it, who loved it, who carry it with them throughout their lives. But for many, it also represents hope, peace, and a unification on a cultural or national level. Soccer gives people the chance to remember who they were as children and what they hoped for in the future. It is the world’s game. Regardless of what the score says when the whistle blows, it symbolizes what is best in this life: belonging to something greater than yourself.
Play on…
