Everything up

Three: To carry

Jason called me over the weekend. 

"So, I've got a soccer game Sunday.  Do you wanna come?" He had asked.

"What time?"

"3:00."

"I've got a game at 2:30 on Sunday, I don't think I'll be able to make it sorry," I say. 

"You play soccer?" He said.

"Yeah.  Who do you play for, Jason?"

"The Knights actually," he answered.

The Knights were this big travel club, they went all over the state, Michigan that is.  To the bitter upper peninsula, all the way to the thumb, where weather changed as fast as a tv channel. 

"I play for Crossing," I said.

"Crossings cool.  But the Knights are better," he said.

"The Knights were the first team my team beat," I lied.

"Really? You sure?"

"No," I laughed. 

After a bit more casual talk, we hung up and I started on homework.

***********************
I laced up my cleats and tapped my shin guards, hearing a satisfying hard plastic pang.

When I get to the field, I do some passing drills with my team, and then we do our warmup and stretch, then jog around the field.  We then split into two teams and play keep away; having to do ten push-ups if we don't receive the ball on our back foot.  Finally, the game begins.  We're versions the knights's girls' team.  Within the first few minutes do the game, we can tell that the Knights are all technical, and don't like to pass to much, but they keep possession of the ball for the first half.

I'm shuffling around nervously in goal. Somehow, the Knights don't lay very good shots on net, if they can get there. Most of the time, they dribble down, try to use skill to get past our defense, who gets the ball and they do a weak pass wide, which the outside defenders get before our midfielders do. I'm shouting for my defenders to pass it back to me, because I can easily switch the field.  Of course they don't. And the midfielders have trouble "checking in" to the ball.

Some of our best players are out today. Naomi's foot might have a fracture. Either way, somethings definitely wrong with it. Sophia threw up twice last practice. Apparently, she hasn't gotten any better. Lauren has a concision, so she has been ordered 4 weeks of rest. And Caitlin might've caught Sophia's virus.

Two shrill whistles call for subs. Chloe comes in for Kate, Madelyn goes in for Anna, and the other Kaytlyn goes for Erika. A few girls go for the Knights, that seem to have at least 30 girls on their team.

New problem, one of the offense subs is really skilled and aggressive. She calls for the ball, her voice cracking so it sounds like if you were breaking a glass bottle on sand. But her team doesn't like passing very much. After a the next sub, a new girl is called into the field on right forward. She passes the ball a lot, especially to the strong offender. The more passing, The more shots on goal. After 10 or more shots, I let in two.

"Come one Mallory!" Someone yells cheerfully. It's Jason, I see with a quick glance. He's joined by some of his soccer buddies that are intently watching. I glance back to the Field and see the offender dribbling past the defenders. The right back on my team, Chelsea, drops and tries to cut her off. The offender does a stepover and megs her, but Chelsea whips around and cuts her off. Their stupid offender gives an elbow to the back, knocking Chelsea sideways. Of course the ref didn't make a single call for that. I think the ref forgot his glasses at home.

Chelsea stutters to the right, and parents yell at the lack of a call- in the box too. Gaining her balance, Chelsea moves forward, and slide tackles the girl and the ball. This time, the ref notices and Chelsea gets a yellow card (even though it's opposed to be a red, lousy ref!). There's a PK in the box. SHIT! A keeper only saves 1 in 5 of those. Well, I'll try my best.

She shoots. The ball is chest length a bit to the right of me, I think. I dive, first knocking the ball out of the direction of the goal, then falling on top of the ball.  I made the save! Heck yeah! I could hear Jason and his soccer buddies yelling. I just punt it as far as I can. And the whistle blows, end of game. We lost 2-0. But I felt really good about that PK block.

Afterwords, my coach says a few words about coming to get the ball, and stronger passes.  I linger over to a game the next field over, and guess who's in goal.  Jason with neon orange and blue gloves, stands on his toes in goal.  A tall looking forward makes his way toward Jason, knocking the ball between his feet,  throwing in a couple rolls.  In no time, the offender beats the defenders, except Jason looming in goal.  I can almost feel his insides knot, for I know the pressure you feel when someone's dribbling down the field right to you with a determined face. 

Jason shifts around, trying to get the offenders attention, because if the player keeps his eyes on the goalie, that's where he'll shoot.  And that's  right where he shoots, right at Jason's head.  Throughout he fields the shot colliding with his head rings like a funeral bell.  But up pops Jason, with the ball.  On his toes, lining up to punt the ball, his knees buckle and his body drops to the ground, collapsed like a table. 

Silence from the audience.  In my head, the sound of the ball colliding with his head replays like a broken record.  Jason doesn't get up.  The only thing that gets up is a sickening chill in my spine.  What I'm guessing are his parents and his coach, carry him off the field.  Jason lay still, a limp, soggy sheet up paper that sags down.

He's not dead, I tell myself.  He's not dead.  He couldn't die. 

Great.  My only sorta friend might be dead.