Thinking about soccer is bittersweet for me, as it had been a huge part of my life since I was young, but my memories of the end are tinged with uncomfortness and unhappiness.
I began playing in a recreational league when I was four or five. It was just a bunch of small children running after the ball, trying to kick it, but I really loved it. When I was eight, I joined my first travel team as a midfielder, eventually switching to center defense. I honestly can’t remember much about my early days of soccer, but evidently I had enough fun to continue for years.
When I was 12ish, it became clear that I had outgrown the small team I was on and I switched to a more advanced regional team. The quality of play was much higher, even though I dropped down to my own age group, rather than playing a year up like I had done on my old team. I was happier with the soccer, definitely, but I was less comfortable with the people. Many of the girls on the team had been playing together since they were little, so it was hard to make friends. Plus, I would hate having to pretend to be interested in what they were talking about.
Our coach was very different from my previous coach, unfortunately not in a way that clicked with me. During games, my coach would stay quiet until we stepped off the field, then explaining what he noticed and telling us how to improve. My new coach would be screaming on the side of the field, trying to get us to listen while we were in the middle of a play. This style of coaching wasn’t compatible with me, as I usually tuned out any sound that wasn’t from the field. It was mainly to reduce distractions from the spectators, but it also blocked my coach’s voice.
After two years on that team, I left. The breaking point was during the winter season when I badly sprained my ankle. I had to drive 45 minutes to practice to sit and watch for a hour and a half before driving 45 minutes back home. This was three times a week and I wasn’t allowed to do homework while sitting on the side. It had definitely been building up for a while – I would dread going to every practice for a few months even before I got injured.
So I took a step back, went back to my old club and played with an okay team for a bit. I definitely needed the break from playing for such a highly competitive team, and this made me enjoy soccer again, though I was frustrated with the low level of play.
After just one season, my mum got a call from one of the parents on my old team (the higher level one) saying that a bunch of the girls were leaving the club and going to a new club. This club was pretty good, competitively, but didn’t have the toxic attitudes or such a burning need to win. So I went and played there – there was good competition, a good coach, and people I was familiar with. It was fun, but after a couple seasons the team kind of broke apart, at least in my eyes. People left because they weren’t satisfied with the level of play, or because they graduated (we were an ’03 and younger team, I’m an ’05), or because they moved. And we got new players, but I never really clicked with them. The majority of the team again starting having conversations that I just didn’t care about – talking about boys from nearby schools that they somehow all knew and gossiping about relationships. It was a perfectly valid thing for teenagers to be talking about, but I was never interested (maybe I should’ve read into that earlier than I did…).
At the end, the team got to the point where I wasn’t friends with 90% of them, and I didn’t even know some of their names. We all played for school during the fall, and when I showed up for some winter practices, there were about 10 people I’d never met. That’s when I stopped playing club soccer.
Although my club soccer journey was pretty tumultuous, school soccer was a lot more peaceful. I played on the middle school team in 7th and 8th grade, then made the varsity team for all four years of high school (to be fair, we weren’t really a sports school). I was friends with a bunch of the team who was one year older, and one of my best friends made the team all four years too, so I was a lot happier in terms of the people. The soccer was okay, not great, but I still had fun. A bunch of my friends also played on the guys’ team, so we would go support each other at home games.
My junior year I hurt my foot pretty badly – I had crutches and a boot. During playoffs, I was in the boot but still wanted to contribute. It’s kind of funny, looking back on it, but we played the number two seed and were tied most of the game. By the end of the game, my ankle was hurting really badly, even with the five Advil and multiple layers of taping on it (kids, don’t play while injured, especially when injured on one of the essential joints for your sport). We ended up losing – I couldn’t really sprint anymore, which left gaps that they took advantage of – but it was really funny when we were walking off the field and I saw the other team’s players, parents, and peers take a double take at the boot I walked off the pitch in (again, DO NOT do this, it is so not healthy).
I was elected as one of the captains my senior year, which was great. On the field, my words held more weight, which helped as my co-captain and I were pretty much the two most experienced players on the team. Off the field, it was a bit rougher, as neither of us were very social, so it was hard to cross the gap to the teammates who weren’t part of our friend group. We made it out fine, in the end.
I haven’t really played in university – maybe I’ll join the recreational league next year, try to replace the bed memories of the end with new, good memories, but honestly, this chapter of my life might be closed. Even though it sucks to give up something I grew up with, it’s not worth it if it doesn’t make me happy anymore.
Sydney L. Merrill 