The wind came with a force, hitting my skin as I sprinted across the field, sending chills down my spine. The aggressive wind gusting through my hair in every direction, but unlike my hair, I was focused in one direction: The net.
Sweat trickled down my forehead as I kicked the ball far enough for a teammate. Once he got it, I stood there with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath that was trying to get away. Knowing I could only rest for a second, I took the chance to look up from the green grass to the crowd in the bleachers cheering for my team to win. I stared at the crowd blankly, with no feelings forming anywhere. To other teammates, the cheers is what drive them and make them want to play harder.
But for me?
My eyes travel from the hundreds of strangers that sit on the bench to the two adults sitting in the front row. The man sat there leaning forward watching the game, but you could tell he’s not really watching, he looks bored. The lady next to him isn't even watching the game, she sits there on the phone with someone, chatting away, not even paying attention to the fact I am not moving.
So what does the cheering do for me? How does it make me feel? Well, Nothing.
How could I feel excitement, pride, or enjoyment? When the two people who sat in the front aren't even paying attention to the game there here to see, so I feel nothing. I don’t feel enjoyment as the crowd cheers, because my own parents can't even muster a single cheer.
Soon, I get pulled away from staring at the peanut gallery, since one of my teammates smacked into my shoulder to get my attention, to get me back to reality. This is when I noticed one of the players from the opposing team took control of the ball, trying to get the goal. I quickly look at the scoreboard to see where we are at. 3-3, only 5 minutes left of the last quarter.
Even though I don't have the motivation to win, I know that's what the team wants, so I move. I rush over to the player, who has the ball right in front of him, almost like it's putty in his hands, a big goofy grin on his face, thinking he's going to win.
As if I would let that happen.
That grin soon vanished from his face as he noticed the ball was no longer with him and was now being chased to the goal, the goal that is not destined for his team to win.
As we were all chasing the ball hurriedly, almost like we were afraid it would run away, the only thing running in my head was my motive, and no, it wasn't to win the game or anything similar. My motive and desire for the game was simply , “Let's get this over with.”
As I got closer to the net, I decided to take my shot. Without a second thought behind my movements, I smashed my foot into the ball, watching it smack into the net. As I stand there watching the said ball roll away, I hear a loud buzz indicating that we won the match.
As the crowd started to cheer along with some boo’s here and there from the opposite team, my team rushed to me with an exhilarated rush, which exhausted me.
“That's our captain! Always showing who's boss!” A player said, excitement pumping through his voice, other players cheering and screaming, surrounding me as they grabbed each other. I just stood in the middle of the huddle, my eyes made contact with the grass.
I watch the blades of grass be smashed by the old soccer cleats, the small bits of the grass flying into the air. The guy's loud voice is being crammed in my eardrums as they smack me on the back in celebration. All I can do is just stand there limp; I don't feel this buzz of pride or adrenaline pumping through my veins. I look at my coach, who most of the time looks like he hates us all, even though he looks full of pride, but then I decided to look back at the two adults in the front.
They left once we won.
My own parents didn't even come to congratulate us or even me. They're probably sitting in the car, on their phones, waiting for me to get done with this. They just watch to make sure I am doing it; they don't notice I am miserable.
I sigh and look up from the grass. I managed to let out a phony, excited voice, congratulating everyone on the win and acknowledging their great effort, because I know didn't do much. Soon enough, they start to rush off the field to get the sweat off their bodies. I follow behind, all of them still buzzing, but my buzz died a long time ago. When this hobby became a lifestyle, the choice became a requirement.
So, no, I feel nothing when I stand on this field, or feel anything when I leave it after a great win. I won’t feel anything at practice in a few days, I won’t feel anything when the two adults in the car ask about it.
I don't feel anything when it comes to this lifestyle I've been born into. Bryan is great at this lifestyle. Me? not so much…but at this point, this is all I've ever known.
Maybe I don't feel anything because there's no reason to, when I don't even know the meaning of it.