Basic Physics
It had just rained. And I usually love rain. It has always felt rejuvenating, and makes my thoughts not seem raucous. But today it was different. An apprehensive feeling topped with self-doubt and sprinkled with uneasiness scattered throughout every synapse of every nerve in my entire body. The rambunctious raindrops simply seemed like a bad sign. Like a signal sent from the heavens that a life changing event was about to unravel. Unravel into a series of events that maybe weren’t so fortunate. And considering that it hadn’t rained in weeks, it bounced around in my brain that maybe the unexpected downpour had been a foreshadowed message that things were about to change.. But, I never would have guessed in a million years that it would have been the one thing that has always been so familiar to me. The one thing I thought I had always known like the back of my hand. But it was.
It’s always felt like home. The crisp cut grass with perfectly straight lines outlining my canvas, the smell of morning dew has always calmed the world around me and the cool, fall wind always hits my knees unforgivingly. Which, have always been covered in green stains August through December. It’s always just made sense. Every pass, every shot, every trap, all so familiar. But today, was the complete opposite. Today, I was going to meet my new team. And when my Dad looked at me on the way there and asked if I was nervous, my response was something along the lines of, “isn’t that the understatement of the century.” This day would end up being the first of many misunderstood sprints, intriguing life lessons, and frustratingly, “constructive” criticism. It was the first day of the rest of my soccer career. But it wasn’t my new team that defined that new beginning. It was a five foot three Chilean soccer coach. And if that’s not enough flair to add to the West Michigan bubble he also, always wears crocs. Which ironically, went out of style when I was oh, I don’t know, seven?
Once we pulled into a parking lot, I looked at my Dad like a deer in headlights and said, “Is this it?” He just smiled and nodded his head. He told me to just get out and introduce myself. I looked at him like he was crazy and kept telling him to just drive home.
“Just go, I don’t belong here.” I kept repeating. Then he just gave me this look, like yes, yes you do. I took a deep breath and got out of the car, nervously, spinning my ball in between hands- worried that if I dribbled the ball, I would take a bad touch and be judged. But what if they are judging me because I’m carrying the ball. Luckily, before I had another panic attack, I reached the coach. I introduced myself. He told me how happy he was that I was here and that I was going to be a great addition. I smiled, nervously looking around at all the other players. They all had a chip on their shoulder and looked at me like the “new girl.”
Coach Maus gathered us all in a circle and told us a trainer was coming and he was going to get us in tip-top shop, mentally and physically. His name was, Dagoberto Cortes. Also known as Mr. Crocs, also known as Mr. you will never know how old I really am, and also known as Mr. you will do as many sprints as it takes to understand. For the remainder of the practice, my legs were aching from dashing from the eighteen to the eighteen, I had done way too many “Dago-Sit Ups.” I left flushed with red cheeks, burning quad muscles, and exasperated lungs.
In the following weeks I looked forward to practice every Tuesday and Thursday knowing that I was developing as a player. What I didn’t know, was that I was also developing as a person. I was being taught not just hard work and stamina, but I was also being taught little life lessons that everyday of my life would matter. The smell of the dew on the grass during our games in the morning seemed to go hand and hand with a scream “SHELBY!” It seemed as if every sprint and Dago-Sit Up I did was worth it when I made a good pass or assisted the next goal. The praise was minimal, and at first that was hard to get past. It seemed after every game instead of the 5 things I improved, there were 10 that needed a little bit of extra work.
5 years later, it’s my last season with Dago. The old Chilean with tiny legs and a huge smile who can somehow always dribble around me, or through me. I can never get the ball from him. He’s taught me how to protect the ball, and then continued to tell me that protecting the ball is like protecting my team, and my team is my family. He’s taught me that whenever someone pushes you, you push them back. He’s taught me that no matter where life takes me, I have to be prepared for wherever the game will go, always ready for the next pass, shot, goal, always preparing to make the next trap, throw, and assist. My next year without Dago will be and adjustment. I think of him as a grandpa; he always knows how to cheer me up when I need him to, but also get on me when I’m not working up to my full potential. Everything I am as a player is because of him. But as the years will undertake, I will forget the exact stance required to loft a corner kick, the technique of weaving in and out of defenders, and the poise demanded to play the beautiful game. But, I’ll never forget what he’s taught me about life, about being a good person, and sticking up for those who can’t themselves. He’s left a legacy, on not just me but the entire West Michigan soccer community. Wherever life takes me, I know a Dago lesson will always relate, always.
“If something goes up, it will eventually come down. If someone pushes you, you push them back. It’s basic physics.”
-Dagoberto Cortes
No comments:
Post a Comment