Gooooooaaaaaaaal!
By Trudi Trueit - September 6, 2011
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Not long ago, I found myself with 36,644 of my closest soccer compadres at Century Link Field in Seattle, cheering like mad as the Sounders Football Club scored six goals against the Columbus Crew. If you’re a Major League soccer fan you know what an accomplishment that is. And if you’re not, it’s probably because you have snoozed through more than your share of 0 – 0 ties.
I don’t know what it is about soccer, but the game speaks to me. It always has. I started playing competitive soccer in the third grade and continued through much of high school. Maybe it was the simplicity that charmed me. If you have a ball, you can play. Run, dribble, pass, kick the ball past the goalkeeper into the net - score! That’s all you have to do. Simple. Other than a pesky offside rule (there must be a defender between the offensive player and the goal at the time the ball is passed to the offensive player), soccer is a sport for everyone, everywhere. Girls and boys. Rich and poor. Young and old. I was a chubby, rather uncoordinated kid but still, there was always a place for me on the team.
To a fan, über players like Pelé, David Beckham, and Landon Donovan appear to have natural gift for the game. But that is the deception. For any soccer player will tell you that to be great – truly great – requires complete dedication to the sport. Before you can hear the roar of thousands of fans, you must practice the same drills on countless fields without grass, fans, or bathrooms. You do those drills again and again and again. Year after year after year. Every game is another chance to prove yourself. You must run faster, jump higher, dive harder, and kick more accurately than your next opponent. You must strive to be better today than you were yesterday.
Yes, that is why I love soccer. So simple, yet so hard.
Writing is a lot like soccer, I think. Without the penalty kicks.
I don’t know what it is about soccer, but the game speaks to me. It always has. I started playing competitive soccer in the third grade and continued through much of high school. Maybe it was the simplicity that charmed me. If you have a ball, you can play. Run, dribble, pass, kick the ball past the goalkeeper into the net - score! That’s all you have to do. Simple. Other than a pesky offside rule (there must be a defender between the offensive player and the goal at the time the ball is passed to the offensive player), soccer is a sport for everyone, everywhere. Girls and boys. Rich and poor. Young and old. I was a chubby, rather uncoordinated kid but still, there was always a place for me on the team.
To a fan, über players like Pelé, David Beckham, and Landon Donovan appear to have natural gift for the game. But that is the deception. For any soccer player will tell you that to be great – truly great – requires complete dedication to the sport. Before you can hear the roar of thousands of fans, you must practice the same drills on countless fields without grass, fans, or bathrooms. You do those drills again and again and again. Year after year after year. Every game is another chance to prove yourself. You must run faster, jump higher, dive harder, and kick more accurately than your next opponent. You must strive to be better today than you were yesterday.
Yes, that is why I love soccer. So simple, yet so hard.
Writing is a lot like soccer, I think. Without the penalty kicks.
