Heartbreak and Happiness: A Tale of Co-ed Intramural Soccer

There I was, just sitting there. In all my games, I always stood on the sideline throughout the entire game -- shouting out at someone and no one in particular. If I couldn't be on the field, then maybe yelling "man!" would let a teammate know a defender was charging them, or that "backdoor!" let our defenders know a striker was sliding behind our back line. Always standing, but not last night. For the first time, I came out of the game with a couple minutes left, and took a seat on the turf along the fence. I tried not to think about the game, but instead, let the cool breeze wash over me while getting comfortable on the padding provided by the rubber turf pellets. After all, we were down 3-1 in a game that felt like 10-1, and against a team that either was putting on a passing clinic or was just toying with us.

I thought to myself, "That's it. No more soccer. This is my last season." Why bother with the effort, the money, the time -- only to be demoralized by a group of strangers? Surely, there are better ways to spend a Thursday night in Manhattan. I thought about all of this while coming to the sad realization that I'm not good at soccer, that I'm overweight and can't keep up out there with everyone else, and that my hand-foot coordination is mediocre at best. I specifically considered the fact that the best thing I had done so far that night was block a couple shots with my butt. "At least our jerseys match nicely," I thought. Ordering jerseys and fronting $1400 for a team registration fee -- those are what I bring to the table. Sure, going to the bar afterward is always fun, and seeing everyone once a week is something I look forward to, but was it all worth the dejection of being slaughtered for 44 minutes after a long day of work? That's what was running through my mind at three and a half minutes left in what was inevitably a one-sided victory.

But then, something strange and unexpected happened.

A goal with two minutes left came out of nowhere, and put us down only 3-2. Respectable, I thought. It'll look a lot closer on paper than what occurred on the field. I'll stand back up. Applaud this valiant effort from my teammates. Sure, it'll be too little, too late, but it's nice nonetheless. Of course, the other team will wise up, play lock down defense, and kill the remaining two minutes on the clock.

And then, it really happened.

A ball cleared up the middle ended up being the perfect pass, leaving Josh 1 on 1 with their goalie as the two scrambled for the loose ball near the net. Pre-game pitchers and mid-game cigarettes notwithstanding, Josh slid in, punching the ball into their net and tying the game with a minute or so to spare.

A 3-3 draw is what the website will show as the result, but it felt like we won the whole thing last night. We are in that team's head now, and know we can beat anyone out there. This is what the Giants must've felt like after barely losing to the Patriots at the end of the regular season last year. Sure, they didn't win, but a game like that turns it all around.

I take it all back. That is a great way to spend a Thursday night in Manhattan.

And I'm never sitting down at a game again.