I am six years old and have finally convinced my parents that I am interested in playing Soccer. It took a lot of hard work and subliminal messaging, but eventually, they caved and signed me up for my first team. As we arrived at the park where we would be practicing from now on, my mom turned from the front seat and started her usual check that I had everything. Do I have my boots? Yes (Hee hee, I got them to call cleats that). Do I have my mouthpiece, towel, bag, change of clothes, deodorant, and water bottle? Yes. After 5 minutes of interrogation, I was finally released with my Dad wishing me good luck. Shouldering my bag, I walked from the parking lot to the pitch and watched the other kids arrive with their parents. I must admit that even as someone with an adult thinking, having your parents send you off with love is a fond memory.
I step onto the pitch and make my way toward who I assume is the team's coach. At this level of soccer, you will never have a manager since that requires running an entire club, which, honestly, they don't do in America in the first place. Anyway, I put my bag down in the pile of other bags next to the bench and made my way to the edge of the Pitch before finding my seat next to a subdued-looking black-haired kid staring hard at the ground.
I appreciate him for not wanting to be here; that means he won't talk to me, and I hate talking to kids my physical age. It's like a professor talking to a middle school graduate, but ALL the time.
Having found my seat, I look around to see if I may recognize any future stars, which, if we are honest, is unlikely as there are few American stars in the first place, and the only ones my age are... no one.
Wait. Ohhhhhh, all the upcoming American stars like Christian Pulisic, Weston McKennie, Tyler Adams, Sergino Dest, Antonee Robinson, and Folarin Balogun are all younger than me. That means.. getting into European Futbol will be a lot harder.
As I groan to myself internally, the coach clears his throat.
Everyone who has signed up has arrived. We will start by having y'all run around the field for as long as possible; this will help us figure out your general fitness."
As the other kids groaned and had to head to the start line slowly, I stalked forward like a predator that finally spotted its prey. This was the beginning for me.
After getting all the kids lined up, the coach sounded the whistle, and we all started going. Some kids took off at a full sprint, others decided to jog with a group of friends, and I set a sustainable pace to keep jogging forever.
I had been active while growing up. On top of constantly bugging my parents about Soccer, which I had "learned about at school," I also made sure to run as much and as hard as possible at every opportunity. There had been a couple of teacher conferences with my parents regarding my lack of socialization, especially at recess, but, in the end, I had not done anything warranting being spanked, so I just kept doing it despite the verbal reprimands.
Now, all that hassle was paying off as I passed one person after another and then, sometime later, lapped the first person, then the second, and, eventually, I lapped everyone. After my fourth lap, I noticed kids lying on the ground panting and others sitting together on the pitch, talking and laughing, but I kept going.
My dream was to be the best 6 (holding midfielder) in the world, and with that position comes the need for supreme calm, godly stamina, and excellent passes. The calm I have for now and can hopefully further develop on my Soccer journey, the godly stamina I already had way ahead of my peers, but it should grow more as I mature. The excellent passing was probably the only reason I wanted to play on a team in America. I need people to pass to, which I don't get at recess. Eventually, I hope to be so good that the coach recommends me to a training academy here or abroad, and my parents are brave enough to send me.
Well, I have other plans if they want to keep me.
With that final thought, the Coach finally blew the whistle on my seventh lap and called all the kids together. He runs all of us through ladder drills, cone drills, and suicides, with breaks taken as needed. At the end of practice, the coach called us together and dismissed us with a promise to have our positions by tomorrow.
I grab my bag and walk away until a voice calls me from behind. Turning, I see one of the assistants beckoning me to come to him. Glancing around, I noticed that I was the only one I'd been singled out, so I cautiously approached him.
" Mark, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Johnson."
"Awesome, could you please come with me? Coach Smith wants to speak to you and your parents when they arrive."
Nodding my head, I followed Coach Johnson to Coach Smith, who was marking some papers on a picnic bench. Setting my bag down, I sit across from him and wait for him to finish. Eventually, he stopped and looked at me with a small smile.
"Kid, I am going to be frank with you. You don't belong here."