One: Thunder of Loss
The roar of the stadium surrounded me, muffled in the distance. My focus was on the pitch, the ball, my teammates, and the opposition. The humidity changed with the first taste of rain in the air. A storm rolled in from the Pacific, the smell both soothing and charged as a crack of lighting illuminated the sky in the distance.
Forty-six minutes in.
Nil-nil.
A win tonight would bring us that much closer to securing our spot in the playoffs. It wouldn't be easy. With another two minutes of extra time on the clock, it felt as though every piece of turf hated me, holding a personal grudge I was unaware of.
"Middle! Middle!" Gunnar shouted from midfield, palms opened wide, showing me the opening.
I didn't think. I acted. With a flick of my foot, I passed it over, giving it a little back heel.
Flashy, I know, but still clean. He whiffed it. A collective groan from the crowd sounded in a single frustrated wave. The sound heavy, charging the air with a negativity we did not need.
“That’s on you.” He pointed at me, pissed.
“How?” I barked back.
He shook his head as we jogged back. "Stop with the flashy shit and play the damn game."
"You're just pissed because I can actually do the flashy shit and make it look good." I taunted, because it was safer than spewing out what I really wanted to.
“Grow up,” he said without looking at me. He turned to move away and muttered, "dickhead," under his breath.
Thunder rattled the Jumbotron as lightning cracked closer, splitting to light up the sky. While the rain would be a welcome relief for the current dry spell, the Titans - my team - were all on edge. Nerves were coiled tight and one wrong snap and we'd break like a cheap rubber band. The energy stimulating the air was doing nothing to lower the tension on the field.
My co-captain, Cooper, gave me a look. One that asks if we're good while simultaneously telling me to get my shit together. I gave him a thumbs up and shook off the conflicted energy rolling through my shoulders.
Focus.
We couldn't afford to become sloppy now. For the last few games, our cohesion was strained. As the captain it was my job to lead and keep up morale but my personal life had tainted my image and the team image lately.
The parties, the girls, and the leaked photos to the tabloids. Our PR team did a great job handling anything that came up but even I could tell they were frustrated with me. Every time I fucked up, at least half of my sponsors contacted PR for reassurance and a plan of action. I had the most number of sponsors on the team which created a headache for PR every time I partied too hard.
Sure, other members on the team experienced some poor publicity every now and then, requiring PR to step in, but I dominated their time. Every time they bailed me out, it came with the same speech.
Grow up. Stop partying. Gain some maturity.
You name it, I've heard it. So much that I don't hear it anymore. Their words were a loop in my head causing my focus to shift away from the game.
In the next step, I miscalculated and stumbled on the ball. The opposing midfielder swiped it from me. I turned and fought to gain control of the ball but he passed it up the line. Cooper intercepted and passed me a through ball. I corrected and captured it perfectly. One touch - I ghosted past the center back. Second touch sailed towards top bin, fast and precise - the kind of finish you dream about as a kid and perfect as a man.
Not good enough.
The whole stadium held their breath, letting out a gasp when the post rang like a bell in the belfry.
I wasn't even sure which curses escaped me because the crowd swallowed it with their angry roar of disappointment. Nothing to be done about it now. No time to dwell. It was time to move on to the next play. The next shot. With seconds left on our extra time in the first half we needed to capitalize and land a goal so we could start the second half up.
By the time the whistle sounded, a relief spread through our groaning muscles as we dragged our asses into the tunnel. The crowd roared. Some with anger and some with disappointment but the emotions were high in the air tonight. We bickered in at least three different languages. Jory threw his water bottle at the wall where it burst, spewing the remainder of its contents everywhere.
PR would love that outburst.
They hated any displays of anger. Or anything that could even remotely be taken out of context. But then again, I probably shouldn't be too hard on them since they always seemed to be saving my ass from whatever shitstorm I inevitably seemed to find myself in.
"Ryland." Coach Dima called out quietly which stopped me in my tracks. His quiet bite was worse than his loudest bellow. "Leave the god damn tricks for when we're up by three."
"It wasn't a trick. It was a damn good pass," I argued with Coach even though I knew I shouldn't.
He gestured around the room, tension thick in the air. "Everything is a trick with you right now. We don't need to look good. We need skill, efficiency, and consistency. No one gives a damn how cool it looks. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work."
At this point, even I knew better than to argue any further. If I didn't want benched the second half, I'd sit down and shut up. I chose to sit. Sweat rolled down my spine as the trainer handed me a bottle. Our electrolyte replacement. I downed half the bottle while Dima started talking strategy. I listened. I always did.
The second half was uglier. The rain started in sheets. Though the city needed the rain, we sure didn't need it at this moment. When we already struggled. We played like strangers. I overran a diagonal, Gunnar under hit a pass, their keeper shut down every meager opportunity we managed to find.
During the final minute I chased a hopeless ball into the corner just to feel something like control, slid, and kept it in by some miracle. When I lifted my head, searching for the pass, I realized that no one had made the run. No one believed I’d pull it off.
The final whistle blew 0–0. The boos poured out steadily from the crowd, drowning out the rain. Their displeasure more uncomfortable that my jersey soaked from rain and sweat.
