Yesterday, the high school my kids attend (or attended, in the oldest’s case) ended a 46-game losing streak in the boys soccer program. It required a penalty (handball during a corner kick) kick in stoppage time (in the 80+5th minute) to equalize after falling behind early in the second half, but the goal cemented a draw. Yes, just a draw. But, it wasn’t a loss. For the first time since the 2020 season, Norwood High School’s boys soccer team didn’t lose.
It was not the loudest cheer for a draw I’ve ever heard (my first and only opportunity to see a game on European soil; Olympique Lyonnais scored in the 88th minute to pull even with FC Sochaux. To date, the noisiest environment that wasn’t mechanical that I’ve ever experienced), but the cheering and whooping was loud and went long. The handful of spectators (all family of current players, and the junior varsity squad) were in full throat, applauding and shouting.
The kick itself wasn’t great. The taker hit it low, a little closer to middle of the net than I might have liked, and the keeper got a hand to it, slowed the ball, but it dribbled by him, bounced over the line, into the left corner by the time it stopped rolling.
Still, while unpretty, it was thrilling. The Mustangs had chances to win the game in the two or three minutes of stoppage time that remained, as had their opponents, but neither team were competent enough to find a winner.
Given that both teams entered the game without a point on the table, it was likely a fair result. Neither team were skilled nor organized enough to take points off of anyone else to date, and it will be an upset if either teams pull draws or even wins from other teams this season.
A kid from the football team, who was doing a uniformed run-through immediately after the game, stood before me, noting that he wasn’t sure what to do with a draw. “Is it good? Is it bad?” I told him that the team hadn’t secured a single point in over two years. “It’s great!” I informed him, undeniably excited for the high school boys who’d never experienced anything but loss at the end of the energy draining eighty minutes.
As I’m sitting here thinking about it, writing about it, I blink away proto-tears at a junior JV kid who said, “We just witnessed history!” Sure, he’s being a little facetious, but he’s also correct. And if I talk about the football team running onto the field, racing by the soccer team, I’ll choke up when I tell you they were cheering the soccer team’s performance as they ran by them, hooting, hollering. I couldn’t see from my vantage point how the soccer team responded, but it had to… bittersweet? It is just a draw. But, also, importantly, it’s a draw! For the first time in so long, the morning news at the school will go through the sports reporting with the note, maybe even the cheer, that the boys soccer team didn’t lose yesterday. I’m blinking back tears now, writing it. And I have absolutely nothing to do with it. My boys didn’t play in this game, I’m not a coach. I didn’t go to this school.
Sports has a power over me. I rooted for Spain’s women’s national team to win the Womemn’s World Cup, and fought crying as I watched them celebrate. (Nevermind what happened in the aftermath. That’s a different thing, and has nothing to do with the game, or even the tournament and its result — there’s argument otherwise that I accept and believe, but has no place here and now.) I legit cried when the New England Patriots won their first Super Bowl, lo those many years ago. I can’t not cry when I watch Rocky, or Rocky II, or Rocky IV, or Hoosiers. Hell, if I’ve had a bit to drink, I’ll cry at the end of Dodgeball!
But, I don’t know if it’s a failure in my make-up, a wall I’ve constructed to keep from falling completely apart — I’m not a sturdy structure, but I’m not completely crumbling to bits, yet — or something else entirely — did my folks not tell me they love me enough? do I remain closed off to protect myself against something nonexistent, because I was (okay, am) a nerd growing up at a time when geeks and nerds were trod upon, or at least felt that way, so we stayed closed off? Am I built wrong?
I feel like I should have had a breakdown over the last couple months of my wife’s diagnosis and treatment. The other day, I felt like having one, but never managed quite enough sadness to just curl up and cry. Is it because I don’t let myself have the personal meltdowns that I’m so willing and able to allow sports to manipulate my heart strings?
I don’t know. I suppose it largely doesn’t matter. I do feel like I need a good, long, desperate wave of tears. But, they don’t come. Not when called, anyway.
Treatment is working. We’re halfway through phase one of three, and the second half of phase one will reportedly be easier on her than the first half has been. Which may mean it will be easier on me. Maybe when I’m not necessary, for just one day, I can have that personal gushing of overwhelmedness.
And, if not, then perhaps the Norwood boys soccer team can get a win, and I’ll cry for them, and that might be enough.