I’m a football (soccer) person. I played the sport for 14 years growing up and again in intramurals as an undergrad. I’ve watched the sport since my parents signed up for the Fox Soccer Channel in 2005, and I’ve been hooked on the sport since then.
But I hadn’t played the sport regularly since I was in high school. There was intramural and the odd pick-up game I’d organize with my graduate school cohort, but they mostly preferred Frisbee.
In the time since I started blogging and podcasting for SB Nation, I finished a Master’s thesis on the history of the English Premier League and began a career in sports writing. Soccer has always been, and will continue to be, a big part of my life.
So last year I took advantage of a local opportunity to play again and signed up for the Columbus Adult Soccer League. The opportunity to play organized soccer past your teenage years is rare — and not normally cheap in most parts of the country — but for $70, a chance to play again seemed worth it.
And it was.
I entered as a free agent, expecting to be assigned randomly, but I ran into an old friend when covering a high school game for The Dispatch. Kase, whom I’d played with and against on various youth teams, told me he’d also registered to play and had a team put together.
So as chance would have it I wasn’t only playing the game again but reconnecting with familiar faces. It was a far more talented group than I could have hoped for, making my transition to playing again much easier, but it still didn’t come easy.
Have you ever wondered what happens when you start playing a sport again?
Well, the first thing that happens is your body hurts.
Calf muscles, hamstring, quad, knee and ankle joints. I felt every piece of flesh on my legs and feet for the first couple days after that first game, and I knew I couldn’t keep living like that. Ibuprofen helped, but I knew I had to start stretching again. I had to start eating better. I had to start moving regularly to keep my body fresh and prepared for games each weekend.
And I loved it.
My first goal came in (I think) my third game. I subbed in at center forward early on, when the game was still in the balance, and after a few minutes a chance came for me. Kase had the ball near midfield and looked up at me as I made a signal that I was making a run. He played a brilliant pass that swung perfectly into my path. Even though I didn’t watch it all the way, I could trust it was coming right to me, because I’ve played either with or against Kase since I was 8 years old, and that’s just what he does.
As the ball came in front of me, I decided I was going to shoot, but what I didn’t realize was I wasn’t as close to the goal as I thought I was before I turned.
It was too late by then.
So I swung my right leg and connected as best I could, and I watched the ball slide across the grass quickly past the goalkeeper and into the net.
I was elated, but I didn’t show it because I was out of breath. Instead I gave a quick fist-pump celebration and high-fived a few teammates as I jogged back and told someone else to go forward as I hyperventilated.
From then on, it all felt easier. My muscle memory was coming back, my sense of the game was, too, and most importantly, I was getting on the same page as my teammates.
But I had to be way more conscious of what I put in my body.
One Saturday before a game, I was assigned to cover a spring football practice at Mississippi State. I was in the sun for the two-hour practice and subsequent interviews before then going to celebrate a friend’s birthday, where we went to a taco truck. The greasy (and delicious) food along with a couple adult beverages were also consumed outside.
What I hadn’t realized yet was the toll the sun had taken on me from the practice, but I sure as hell realized the next morning when I felt like I could barely move. I texted my friend who runs marathons to ask for his advice, and sure enough, he had some. In the three hours before game time, I drank as much water as I could and ate a lot of fruit. I felt enough energy to drive myself to Columbus, and I stumbled onto the pitch hoping not to embarrass myself.
And I scored a hat trick.
That day, the entire team was firing, and we won by a pretty sizable margin, but it was a really affirming moment for me. The reason I did what I could to get myself out of the house rather than staying in and resting was because there really was nothing I would have rather done that day than play the game I love.
What made it more fun, of course, was that we won: both the regular-season title and the end-of-year tournament.
It goes without saying that I signed up again for 2023. I’m lucky to have the opportunity to play, and the feeling of joy and fulfillment from playing again wasn’t something I expected. I truly can’t wait to start again.
Putting pen to paper on this was difficult as well, because I’m used to telling other people’s stories. But I was encouraged to do so by The Dispatch’s late sports editor Tom Rysinski last year, shortly after the season finished. I regret that I didn’t finish this in time for him to read it, but I hope this serves as a sort of encouragement to find that recreational sport, hobby or other creative outlet. It’s easy to be discouraged with how expensive some hobbies are and how valuable time is, but there’s value in doing something just for yourself as well. It’s not too late to find or rediscover a passion, nor is it a waste of time to pursue what makes your life worth living.
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You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 45 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
