PK Performance

On Sunday I woke up with little confidence that I would be playing soccer later that day. However, my host brother, knowing my overwhelming excitement, told me not to worry, and was able to make it happen.

The first obstacle was meeting up with the team. I had arranged to meet the team at school (only a 3 minute drive from our house) and then caravan to the game. No one seemed to think that this was a practical idea, so we went ahead and drove to the field without meeting up with them…..about sixty kilometers away. We drove on the main highway for almost an hour before turning off a random dirt road, headed for nowhere. I didn’t have the phone number of anyone on our team, and we didn’t know where the field was. Thankfully, we found the field without too much trouble, because my guilt over making my host family drive that far for nothing was ever increasing. The only thing that was missing was my team.

I have never been so thankful that my host brother came along for the ride, because I was quite the spectacle for everyone in the village to see. Around a hundred or more children and adults came out to see me twiddling my thumbs, waiting for my team to arrive and hoping that they’ll do so before the sun goes down.

About forty-five minutes and one car breakdown later, the team arrived ready to play. They gave me my uniform assigned me to position number 7 (offensive right wing) and off we went!

With oversized cleats, undersized socks, and no shin guards….I wasn’t too effective for most of the first half. At one point, however, I pulled off some fancy footwork and to get around a defender and the crowd went wild laughing, screaming, and shouting. I had forgotten everyone was there and almost fell over with the surge of noise.

At half time spirits were a little low because the other team had managed to score a goal. There was no pep talk or anything so I used the break to change out of my oversized shoes and back into my regular sneakers that I have been using at practice.

During the second half I got a little bit more into the groove. Being less anxious about tripping and falling flat on my face was certainly helpful, and I started to really play the game. About 23 minutes into the half I saw made a great connecting pass to player in front of the goal and handed it off for a beautiful give-and-go to the goal. However, before he had the chance to pass the ball back to me for the shot, he was taken down by one of the defenders in the box.

Penalty kick. The chance to tie it up. I figured that the player who had been taken down would be given the opportunity to take the shot, but everyone, without any hesitation, called for me to take the kick. I protested to the point that they asked me if I even knew how to take a penalty kick before agreeing to shoot the ball. I looked around the field for the first time, and saw spectators lined up shoulder to shoulder around the entire perimeter of the field, sometimes even two or three rows thick.

I immediately lost all sensation in my legs and began to feel a little dizzy. As my breathing started to get a little panicy, I took a few deep breaths and tried to find my zen. My number one mistake in penalty kick situations is to kick it over the net, so I kept repeating myself, “shoot low, shoot low...”

Shoot low I asked for and shoot low I did -- right past the keeper’s right foot. GOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLL! I have no clue how it all happened, but the crowd went wild. Even the other team was giving me high-fives as we all jogged back to reset.

For the rest of the game I kept praying for the referee to blow the final whistle. I was still woozy with anxiety from taking the penalty kick and was more or less useless after that point. The game finally ended with a score of 1 – 1 and rush of people onto the field to come shake my hand.

After the game we took a bunch of pictures with the locals. They must not have been used to flash photography because after every picture the kids would run off in every which direction as if a bomb had gone off or something. Then they would come back and repeat the whole process again.

I have to thank my parents and coaches for all of the years of supporting my passion for soccer. While I never ended up being Mia Hamm, I certainly had the chance to feel like a World Cup player last weekend. If I had to hang up my boots tomorrow I could walk away feeling totally fulfilled.