Don't Forget to Write

Before the Final

I was walking down an unfamiliar city block. Hordes of pedestrians, thousands of them, were walking in the opposite direction on the sidewalk across the street. Nobody was on my side. Cars drove past me going in the same direction as all of the other people, and they honked and motioned for me to turn around, but when I tried to turn towards where they were all going, I couldn't. My body refused to turn or to even stop walking. A figure appeared next to me. It was the Homeless Denzel. He kept his eyes fixed forward, matched my pace and we marched in silence like two soldiers moving towards danger and possibly death while everybody else ran from it. There was dark a tunnel at the end of the street, and just as we crossed the threshold of it into the darkness, I woke up.

Today CCNY was playing in the conference final against Baruch. Bruno and I had attended the past few games. Last night the semi-final game went into overtime and CCNY scraped by on a last-minute goal by Sammy. Everybody would be tired tonight after playing for two hours straight and putting everything on the line less than 24 hours ago.

There was a bittersweet feeling for Bruno and I. Happy that they had made it his far, but knowing that we should be with them. I especially felt bad for Bruno. His final year of competitive soccer and last change to raise that conference trophy would have to be experienced in street clothes form the sidelines rather than in his cleats on the field.

The temperature had dropped 15 degrees since yesterday, and I was wearing four layers under my brown coat just to keep from shivering.

We walked into the locker room where most of the team were already in their game gear, sitting on the benches with their elbows on their knees. Nobody said hello when we walked in; nobody was talking at all. We rode in the van with the team, everybody silent except for David and Matt who cracked the occasional joke to lighten the tension.

When we got to the stadium, the lights were already on and the sky was black. I had just gotten clearance from doctors to begin exercising again so Deco, the keeper who had taken my place, invited me to warm up with him as we used to every day before the NYU game. My body was itching to exercise again, my weak muscles begging to be put the use and the pouch that had grown around my belly was desperate to get burned off. At first, my foot felt like a stranger to the ball, but after a few minutes muscle memory took hold and I felt like I was in my natural element again. Same went for my hands, which weren't used to catching the quick kicks. When all of my appendages and my mind had grown into their reliable rhythms and motions and I felt like a real soccer player again, if only for a few minutes.

The environment around the game was unlike anything I had felt before. The conference commissioner in the center of the sideline behind a table with the conference cup on it. There were hundreds of supporters in the bleachers, most of them from CCNY, and our mascot, a big buck-toothed beaver, led them in some classic chants. All too soon, it was time for opening ceremonies. We stood for the national anthem, listened to the commissioner talk about the beauty of competition, and the referee blew his whistle and the final match was started.