Aspirations to Ashes, Dreams to Dust

I went out on Tuesday. I drove a friend down to Chillicothe to watch the Regional Semis for Boys D-3 soccer. It's about an hour drive, so I didn't go just out of interest, I went cuz it my school was playing and about half the players on the team are good friends of mine.

It was a struggle from the get-go. I won't play out the game, as that's not my point, but it was a very good game. The other team was unexpectedly skilled and fast. We scored 14 min into the second half, and they countered ten minutes later. It was to sudden death and ended all too quickly.

The moment the ball crossed the line, time froze. The other side erupted in cheers and soon died down. Half an hour later, we were all still standing there. No one had moved. The other team and fans had all left, but not a soul had stirred on our side. Players began to slowly make their way back to the bench, but others remained behind: the seniors.

What's startling is that we were ranked number 1. We were supposed to take it all, the second state title for our school ever. We were District Champs for the third time in a row, and this was to be the culminating year after previous successes.

Mr. Swartz ambled over later and explained. Nine of those senoirs had been playing together since they were four years old. This was the to be the final triumph: the state championship, but it disappeared. I can sit here and type away all night, but I'll never be able to explain the tragedy that was felt after this event. I looked around and parents were crying. Fans and friends and even first-timers to watch the team were crying. The crowd gave a couple sporadic attempts to cheer up the team, with applaud and hollars, but it was pointless. Mark, one of my best friends for years, was squat down in the middle of the field, head in his hands for I don't know how long. A couple of brave souls tried to console him, but it took Coach to go out of bring him back to the bench. I hadn't seen so many of my friends so torn apart, tears on all their faces.

In one of the most beautiful moments I have ever seen in my short 18 years, as most of the players finally started coming back across the field to the crowd, the parents and families set out to meet them. Fands headed over and there was hugging and praising. Overall, though, there was a thick silence that lay over the entire field. Mr. Swartz said he thought it's be sad, but not so much like a funeral; but that's what it was. It was the death of a strong link between these men, who grew up playing together, working toward this one last chance at success.

I could not be an athlete. To be an athlete is to face the constant battle between victory and loss. I couldn't handle the prospect of glory being ripped from my grasp in an instant. I'm not as strong as these people.

To think the day before this game, they had all been wearing these three District Champ medals, dreaming of the few weeks ahead, where they'd prove themselves to the whole damn state in Crew Stadium, but it didn't happen.

I witnessed a death, a funeral, and a mourning within an hour. A mutual, overwhelmingly heavy sadness fell upon everyone there and I cannot even begin to explain how it felt. Being uncomfortable in such situations, I stayed out, on the side of the field watching the contagious grief and futile attempts to console. I wasn't as involved as many of those people in the program, so despite my pain, I couldn't begin to imagine what those people experienced.

I write this to recognize the strength in today's athletes, to memorialize this tragic event, and to express my pride in my team.


And for us, there is no next year.