Just a Ball and a Stick

I glance over at the clock. Fifteen seconds. That’s all the time we have to score. All the time we have to win. The ball is currently in the hands of my team, and the referee signals for the ball to be hit from the twenty-five yard line. Once the whistle is blown, every player takes her stance, with knees bent and field hockey sticks parallel to the ground.
The ball flies through the air. The pass from the twenty-five yard line is made to a receiver on the right. The numerous defenders swing to the right side of the field to cope with the change of arrangement. This gives the receiver of the ball an opportune moment to hit it back to the left side, not giving the defenders any time to recover.
I receive the preceding pass and look to the goal to see if it is open. I notice the goalie is in the center, so I conclude that a hit to the far right or left side would be out of her reach. I have a clear path, for the defenders are still trying to deal with the unexpected change. Preparing for a powerful hit, I swing my stick backwards…
…
I was first introduced to the sport of field hockey at the age of eight. My parents had enrolled me in a club team for my age group, and even on that first day, I began to grow a passion for the sport. For months after I first enrolled, all I could do was play. I absolutely loved it. I loved playing right under the sun while others complained that it was a nuisance. I loved the feeling I got when I scored my first goal, or made a perfect pass to an open player, and right then, at the age of eight, I knew I was going to go somewhere with this sport.
I worked day and night. As my skills progressively became better and as I built up my speed and endurance, I was transferred in to an older age group, a ten-year-old working with players in seventh and eighth grade. They had a better handle over the ball than I did, their speed was unbelievable, and they had stamina. At first, I was totally convinced that I wouldn’t be able to make it. These girls had far more years of experience and had probably developed skills that I didn’t even know existed. Of course, in turn, for being the worst on the team, I was ridiculed, constantly, on and off the field.
I called for the ball. “Emily, Emily! I’m open, I’m open!”
She looks up at me, and I prepare to receive the pass. I run to my right, keeping my eyes focused on the ball. Unknowingly, I run straight in to my teammate’s stick, and with a thud, I hit the ground. Covered with the soft, grimy mud of the field, I look up to see my teammates form a ring around me. One of them speaks. I think it was Emily.
“Wow, wait to choke. I really thought you were going to get it this time. Why are you even on this team? You can’t even receive a ball right. Do you need us to pass it softer or should we just request to put you back on that team for little kids, where you belong?”
In some ways, playing with a different age group was probably one of the most frustrating experiences of my life. I was no longer the star; I felt as if I was totally useless. Of course, this made me want to practice even more, to show up the next day and prove to everyone that I belonged. Unfortunately, skill building doesn’t work that way. It takes months, sometimes years, to perfect a hit or get the ball precisely where you want it to go. There are always those people that are born with natural talent, and I envy those fortunate people, for I am definitely not one of those lucky few.
If it hadn’t been for those numerous nights where I stayed up late and scrimmaged with my friends or the times I practiced my hit against the fence in my backyard, I would be nowhere near where I am today. I was diligent, and I expected more of myself. Because of the standards I set, I became a better player and a trustworthy teammate, especially to the girls in the teenage division in club field hockey. Yes, it’s true, after a while, my skills finally caught up to me and the age group I participated in. Now that I look back, I see that playing in the teenage division was probably one of those things that gave me the drive to do better, and be better.
In middle school, I joined the school field hockey team. Most of the girls on the team hadn’t ever picked up a field hockey stick, so I had a clear advantage. I served as the center right mid, the heart and soul of the lineup. Every victory we had was due to my goals, and every advantage we gained was because of the excellent pass that I made or the dodge that I set to knock the other team’s defense off balance. I was the star on my middle school field hockey team, but the one thing that really improved my skills while in middle school was my continued participation in the club team.
I had finally become a teenager, so naturally, you would think that they kept me on the middle school division. Well, you would be wrong. The members of the club believed that it was in my best interest to start playing with high school students. This time, I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes that I did when they last moved me to a more advanced division. I kept my head up the entire time, and I persisted throughout the many challenges I faced. I realized that middle school was nothing compared to the rank of the high school players, and I dealt with it.
I understood that with a more positive attitude, I achieved more over a shorter period of time. My skills developed, my speed improved, and I had more stamina than I ever had before. The other girls were impressed by my skills, and they took me in as one of their own. They showed me tricks and how to fake a pass the correct way. They showed me how to look for triangle patterns and see the field from a different perspective. They developed my knowledge of the game and how to play the game “properly.” They were my mentors.
I glance up at the clock, then to the players, and back at the clock. We still have time. I still have time to think. Strategize. That’s it. Look at the arrangement of the players like they told you to. Remember? Look at the open player. The whistle blows and interrupts my chain of thought. The referee signals that the ball should be turned over to the other team. I chomp down on my mouth guard with rage. What could he possibly call against me this time? This idiot referee, it’s like the other team is paying him. The referee points to the circle and claims that I didn’t travel five yards before entering it. I look to the side lines, and my coach’s face is contorted with disgust. Good, I’m not the only one who notices it. I run over to the other side of the field to regain a defensive stance. I look over to Alice; she nods her head, reassuring me. The referee blows his whistle and the game resumes.
Finally, after several years, I graduated from middle school, and I became a freshman. This was the real deal, high school field hockey. I continued participating in club field hockey as well. Hey, if it had gotten me this far, I just couldn’t quit now. I also was involved with my school team, which was where I had to prove my talents the most. Club field hockey was beneficial, but I had no chance of being recognized at our local games. In contrast, my high school field hockey team was a part of a national association which recognized high school players as potential athletes for college teams.
For four years, I participated on both teams. Let me take you through a day in the life of me in high school. I woke up in the mornings around 5 to do my daily jog. Then, I went to school and hopefully, got all my homework done before going off to practice a few hours after school ended. I would then return home and finish any homework that I had left undone. Before I knew it, it was time for my club practice. That practice would end around 9 or 10 depending on the day, and I would go to sleep right after bathing, and it would start all over the next day. It felt as if I had permanently sore muscles, and somehow, I was always exhausted, but that was just how life was for a while.
That brings me to today. I am in my senior year of high school, and essentially, my entire field hockey career depends on right now. Why? It’s the championships, the sole game where coaches from across the country come to identify potential prospects for their college teams. It’s now or nothing.
…
Preparing for a powerful hit, I swing my stick backwards, hoping to score the winning goal. Before I know it, the ball is swept away from right under me by a defender. The buzzer rings, signaling the end of the game, and all of my opponents rush to the other side of the field to congratulate each other, leaving me in a state of total shock with my stick still held in the air preparing for a swing.
Essentially, I had ruined everything. I had diminished all the chances I had of making a college team, and I had lost the championship game for my own high school team. It was a hopeless situation. I had put my entire future on the line, and I had failed to come through for it. I guess I would have to fight for even the most desperate team, if they even wanted me at this point.
I walked to the bleachers in defeat, and the next thing I know, I hear someone calling my number.
“Number 32, Number 32! Do you have a few minutes,” the coach shouted, while running in full sprint towards me.
I turned around and waited for him to catch up.
Once he caught his breath, he introduced himself.
“I am the field hockey coach at the University of South Carolina, and I wanted to talk to you about being a potential player for my team,” he said.
I was in shock. I was positive I wouldn’t get any offers, not after what happened. There was silence for a few minutes, while I tried to get my thoughts in order. Was he really offering me a position?
The coach noticed my astonished face, and he explained, “I know that you made quite a big mistake today, but I believe in luck. That was definitely not good luck out there. Even the best players can make the worse of mistakes at the most crucial times, and I believe that you are a good player. Today just wasn’t your day.”
“Yes, yes, I would love to play for your team,” was all I could manage to say.
He gave me quick contact information, and he walked off, leaving me alone and frozen on the field.
The University of South Carolina, not a bad team, I thought. Maybe I was getting somewhere.
Sure, some people play field hockey because they find it enjoyable, others play because the sport harnesses their inner aggression, but I play it because I have a passion for it, and I see it as an opportunity. Even if it is just a ball and a stick.