The Last Game

I spent most of the night shivering on the metal bleachers with a lump in my throat, hoping for a miracle. It was a magical season and I didn’t want it to end… But at the same time, I knew it would.

Many of you will logically conclude that I’m talking about my beloved DC United who lost in the playoffs last week…but you’d be wrong.

I’m actually referring to my nephew William’s high school soccer team, the Eagles. This is his senior year… They were in the playoffs.

Last year was his first year on the team so it didn’t really bother me that they weren't a very good team. I was just glad to see him play.

He’s always been good enough to be on the team, he just never had the grades. Despite being a pretty smart kid he tends to float through life doing just enough to get by. He reminds me a lot of myself in that way- and frankly, that scares me.

So when I found out that he had finally started make an effort in school, I didn’t care why. If it was for a soccer team, well that was great... Whatever it took... but I certainly wasn’t worried about was the team’s record. I wanted him to play well, sure, but if the team won it was just a bonus.

But this year was different. William has kept up the grades and suddenly the team started winning too... And he was a major reason why. Not only is he the team’s most reliable defender but he also has a knack for creating opportunities for the team’s goal scorers.

The Eagles have been dominating opponents all year with their deadly counter attack, which often times starts with a long looping pass from William. They finished with the second best record in their league, and as they headed into the playoffs I realized that not only did I now care about the team, but I was starting to care a little too much!

On Halloween night they barely came away the victory over their rival high school in a thrilling 2-1 victory. It was the kind of game where you find yourself checking your pulse just to make sure your heart hasn’t stopped beating. There were hard fouls, spectacular goals, beautiful passes, and lots of drama. I lost my voice in the second half screaming along with the other fans and when the Eagles won, it felt like I had won too.

But it wasn’t all good news…William took a nasty spill in the first half of that game and re-aggravated a knee injury that he had sustained earlier in the year.

He tried to come back and play in the second half but could only manage to limp through a couple of agonizing minutes before hobbling back to the bench.

The next game was in two days… Friday… which is when I found myself shivering on the metal bleachers hoping for a miracle that never came.

William wasn’t sure if he would be able to play or not. His father told him not to play if the knee was still sore- I told him that unless he was in the hospital he better damn well be out on the field.

I arrived just as the game was starting only to see that William was sitting on the bench with an ace bandage wrapped around his knee. We made eye contact and he gave me a quick signal to indicate that he wouldn’t be able to play.

I was more than a little disappointed and made that clear with my facial expression. I didn’t mean to be so hard on him I just wanted him to understand the significance of the moment.

Not only was I afraid that the team would lose, but I feared that would go the rest of his life regretting that he didn’t at least try to play.

As the game started to unfold it was clear that the opposing team (the Bulldogs) were making a point to attack the right side of the Eagle’s defense… the side William would normally be covering.

The Eagles have a bad habit of sometimes letting inferior opponents hang around in the game… this was quickly shapping up like one of those games.

They had actually beaten the Bulldogs fairly easily earlier in the year but they looked like a diferent team now. They were a more confident team that didn’t notice or care that they were supposed to lose this game. In fact, it seemed like only a matter of time before they might take the lead.

Finally, after watching his team in disarray without him, William yanked off his ace bandage and ran out onto the field.

Goose bumps shot down my arm as the two dozen or so fans in attendance clapped in appreciation. I’ll admit that my eyes got a little watery.

The pace of the game shifted immediately. The opponents attack suddenly stalled out and the Eagles began showing signs of life.

They missed a couple of goal opportunities by inches, but they had their swagger back.

...and then disaster struck…

On a free kick, the Bulldogs sent a low shot towards the Eagles’ goal. It had no serious chance of going in, but it did manage to skip up off grass and hit one of the Eagles in the arm. The referee quickly awarded a penalty kick and with that, the score was 1-0.

In second half I think the adrenaline started to wear off because William was beginning to struggle with the pain. He was running with a noticeable limp and grimaced every time he kicked the ball. There were a couple instances where it appeared that his body was not cooperating with what his mind wanted it to do… but still, he fought on.

The game was slipping away and the look of urgency on every player’s face was evident... But despite their best effort neither team could amount any kind of formidable attack. Frustrations began to boil over. The game got very physical. There were hard fouls from both sides. I started to worry about William's knee.

The Eagles did actually manage to get one very good shot on goal with about 4 minutes left, but the opposing keeper made a diving save… and that was it.

Time expired shortly after. The season was over. The dream had died.

As the Bulldogs celebrated their victory the Eagles players laid on the field. Some players were weeping into the grass. William covered his face with his jersey and limped towards the sidelines.

I wanted to write a post about how proud I was of my nephew. How his team had fought hard but had come up just short. How despite the loss he had learned a valuable lesson by putting the greater good of the team ahead of his own personal health… And of course all that is true. But something I became aware of after the game changed the way this post will end.

Apparently as the Eagles were defending a corner kick late in the game a player from the Bulldogs made some racial comments towards my nephew… And not just your garden variety Carlos Mencia-like comment either… the player called him “a fucking spic”.

I remembered seeing William get into a bit of a shoving match late in the game where the ref had to step in and talk with bot players, but nothing really came of it. It was a scene you see a dozen times in a soccer match and at the time I didn’t give it much thought.

But now here was my nephew in front of me in the parking lot after the game with tears of anger in his eyes. He had just played his heart out and lost. He had just gotten his first really strong dose of racism.

And I didn’t know what to say…I had been totally prepared with words of wisdom on how to handle the loss… but racism… I had no answer for that.

My immediate reaction was “let’s go find that little mother fucker,” but that would not have been the mature way to handle the situation (not to mention the little bastard had already left on the bus.)

An entire weekend has since passed and I’m still a bit shocked by the situation. I’m not shocked at the fact that racism had occurred, but the WAY in which occurred… FUCKING SPIC… it’s flagrant… it’s malicious… it’s right out in the open for anyone to see. And from a teenager.

Later that night I found myself alone with my journal. I wrote that maybe in some strange way this was a good thing for William… Maybe its better that he be confronted with this blatant racism now, so he’ll be more prepared for the subtle, camouflaged racism he’s sure to encounter later in life.

It’s now Monday afternoon and I’m still replaying the incident in my mind.

I fear that when William looks back on this game, his last game, all he will see is the memory of that racial slur… Will that moment over shadow all the other stuff? Will he be able to remember what a hard fought game it was? Will he remember how brave he was to even get out there and play?

I hope he will look back and remember the pain in his knee… Remember how hard it was to play through that pain… how reckless it was to give so much of himself… and how proud of him I am that he did it.