Someone asked me why a soccer player should write? Why, when most of her creativity emerges with a ball at her feet than with a pencil in her hand. How would she write? How, if her sport deprives her of all her energy, leaving her no strength left to even pick up that pencil. However, she writes stories everyday between two long white lines. Yet, her thoughts are centered on the wrong piece of paper. Not the 9 by 11 inch paper, but the 120 by 80 yard paper. The kind of writing that someone lurks over hoping to pounce on her next mistake. Why would a soccer player write when her mind is consumed by constant pressure and her time is typing away on provisions for the next match. Her days are spent fixing typos and shortening run-on sentences. I pose the question once more, why write when a soccer player’s callused beaten up feet can speak a thousand times louder than her words.
Why should she write? Is there not enough fame and fortune? Is there not enough glory in the medals and trophies? No, it is to exploit the true purpose of tormenting your body and sacrificing your time day in and day out. To demonstrate the immense pain and pleasure found within the beautiful game of soccer. To ultimately inspire and portray the true happiness found in the sport. The carefully constructed passes along with each and every touch of the ball gives a soccer player a sense of purpose. If every training, every late-night shot, every early-morning header, every tackle in the blazing heat, every skill in the freezing rain, or every injury was projected onto a piece of paper for the world to see, people would display unbelief. “She didn’t work that hard, she’s seeking attention, it’s easy to do what she did.” Such a piece of work would not require any particular compositional structure or level of wealth, but instead reveal the never-ending unrest and hard-work that only a soccer player could describe. It would speak more eloquently than all the words of Shakespeare. Yet, there will always be people that will undermine her journey and success. Publish a goal? If she were to publish her perfect kick of the ball or the goal scored to perfection, there is always someone saying “it’s not good enough.” Still I fear that “someone” is her. The soccer player is her own worst critic. She may have people praying for her downfall, but she also may have numerous believers. Driven to create her best final draft for the few people who look forward to seeing how long her story reads before they reach the final chapter. She does it for her believers, she does it for her despisers, she does it for God, she does it for her teammates, and she does it for the pure fulfillment of which only the game can provide her with.
I’ve grown to understand that what matters is how you communicate it. In the pure love and long hours of skill repetition I search for the true nature of the sport. I am aware that it is there, concealed in the tales I tell through the swift stepovers and sharp feints of my body, which only I am capable of carrying out. It is awaiting recognition. To find it would be like acquiring unlimited food. Feeding the world of the simple, yet sophisticated, beautiful yet depleting authenticity of the sport. Such a goal is not without pain. Who can run without seeing the finish line and fight without knowing the size of the beast without questioning its value. Never taking for granted, as she can flip back the pages to the dark nights under the bright lights. Forever engraved in her memory while feeling the need to share her experiences with the world.
