What Soccer Taught Me About Being a Teammate

I played a lot of soccer growing up. 

Senior Year Team

It was part of our family. My dad played. My siblings played. We played in the backyard. I loved the game, and I took a lot of pride in it. It was part of my Latinidad, which I didn't have a lot of growing up. 

When I got to high school, things changed quickly. I went from being a pretty good player to being a freshman trying to earn a spot. I remember the pride of dressing varsity for the first time, and the intimidation that came with it. Not only was I on the team, but I was willing to play left back, a role not many want so I was actually getting minutes on the field.

We had a strong senior group that year, I remember the leadership of Nick Andrews, and I learned quickly what it meant to work hard just to keep up.

I also realized something about myself early on: I was never going to be the most talented player on the field.

So I made a decision. If I couldn’t be the best player,

I would be the most prepared.
I would be in good shape.
I would outwork people. 
I would fill roles others didn't want.

I didn't have competition, no one wanted to be left back, you have to be good with your left foot and often guard the best striker. No one wanted to do it, but I would, and I would do my best 180% of the time.  

That became my identity.

By my sophomore year, I was starting and playing a lot of minutes. One of my favorite memories came during the playoffs when we played Traverse City (maybe Junior year).

They had a star player, one of those guys who was clearly headed for bigger things. I think he was in Olympic development program, went and played Division 1, and even spent time in MLS. 

I played left defense, and before the game our coach pulled me aside and said something simple:

“I’m sticking you on him. He’s going to run all over the field and try to wear you out. Just stay with him.”

So that’s what I did. 

Whenever they had the ball, he was everywhere. When we had the ball, he would intentionally jog up and down the midfield line trying to exhaust and distract me. I followed him every step.

At one point he looked at me and asked, “Can you do this all game?”

I said, “I’m going to try.”

He smiled and on his face I saw a, “Let’s see.” (thats how I remember it)

I felt like my job was to save the legs of our better defenders. Matt and Justin our stopper and sweeper needed fresh legs as they were more skilled (and taller) in handling crosses and corners. 

We didn’t win the game, but he didn’t score a goal. And for me, that felt like a win.

By my junior year, things were going really well.

I was playing every minute of every game and probably playing my best soccer. Our school paper wrote and article and called me an ironman, and I even scored my first high school goal, which was pretty unusual for me, in a tournament in Alpena... a left-footed shot, one touch, off a rebound (right place, right time, but I was ready). 

That year also gave me one of my favorite high school sports memories.

Our biggest rival was Heritage. They were always good. Better facilities, better training, and they beat us every year. For my South Bend friends reading this, they were like the Penn High School of our area.

We hated playing them. We knew half of them cause we played travel with them, Olympic development, tournaments, 3 on 3, etc. 

We hosted them under the lights at our field. Our football team had finished practice and actually stopped by to watch the game as it went into overtime, partly because they always beat Heritage in football and liked reminding us of it.

The game was brutal. Physical. Hard fought. 

Towards the end of OT we earned a free kick just outside the box. Everyone expected our best striker, Isaiah, to take it. But instead, another teammate stepped up with him, a foreign exchange student from Finland. 

Most of their players had grown up playing with Isaiah. They knew him well.

They didn’t know the other guy.

I got ready, often off a missed free kick the team will counter hard, their keeper grab it and push it back out fast. I knew I couldn't be caught sitting there watching this kick and not be ready. 

He lined up, hit the ball and not perfectly, a little bit of a knuckle ball, and buried it in the back of the net.

Game over. Rushing the field. Even the football players cheered for us. 

I don’t remember how that season ultimately ended. I think Heritage beat us in the playoffs, BUT it didn’t matter.

For that night, we had taken down the team everyone thought we couldn’t beat.

And we were champions.

My senior year started with a lot of promise.

My brother’s class (sophomores), maybe the best class of players ever, had come up behind us and was now contributing. We had good juniors and an experienced group of captains. I was one of them.

We had a real chance to have a special season. Beat Heritage again. 

Day of Alpena goal

Early in the year we were playing a game in Bay City that we were comfortably winning. As a defender, I rarely got chances to score. But during that game I saw an opportunity to push forward and try.

Maybe I could sneak in a goal.

Maybe it would help my stats.

Maybe it would help get an offer to play in college.

I pushed up the field during an attacking move.

And then it happened.

One of their players made a dirty tackle and completely destroyed my knee.

I remember my dad running out onto the field. I remember my brother being furious. And I remember knowing immediately that it was bad. I tore my ACL and damaged my meniscus.

One of the things I remember most clearly was walking off and giving my captain’s band to a younger player, I think Justin J. I had worked hard to earn that role, but it felt right to pass it on to someone who could lead the team on the field.

For the rest of the season, I found myself doing something new.

Coaching.

I spent time talking with John, the player who took my position. I explained how I thought about defending, how to pressure attackers, how to prevent crosses. I found that I actually enjoyed it.

And he did a great job.

Eventually our team made it to the conference championship.

Against Heritage.

I desperately wanted to play.

Doctors said I would eventually need surgery, but I convinced everyone to let me try. I had been lifting weights, running, trying to rehab it. I strapped on a large don joy knee brace, got taped up, and stepped onto the field.

Within minutes, I blew my knee out again. Probably made it worse. I went to the sidelines and watched the rest of the game from there. We lost.

I remember yelling.
I remember being angry.
I remember crying.

But when I think about that moment now, I realize something important. Something I wish I had told my guys, especially John who took my spot, to Chris and Ryan my fellow senior captains. 

I wasn’t crying because of the pain. And I wasn’t crying because we lost. I wasn't angry at them for us losing. 

I was crying because I couldn’t be out there with my team.

Not because my presence would have changed the result.

But because I wasn’t part of it anymore.

Soccer taught me a lot of things growing up, but the most important lesson was this:

It taught me how to be a good teammate.

Looking back now, I also see something else clearly.

Part of why I got hurt in the first place was because I was trying to score a goal.

That wasn’t my job.

My job was to defend.

And in that championship game, I probably could have served my team better by staying on the sidelines, encouraging, coaching, and helping my teammates succeed. 

I still could have been part of the team.

Instead, I made it about wanting to play.

The injury changed my athletic career. After surgery and months of rehab, my knee was never quite the same. I had dreams of being a college player, but those dreams changed. 

But the lesson stuck.

Over a month ago, an NFL player who went to my son’s high school came to speak to them, I went and he really caught my attention.

“This is where I learned how to be a teammate.” ~ Danny Pinter, #63 Indianapolis Colts (now with the Ravens)

He took that lesson to the highest level of professional sports. I didn’t.

But I’ve tried to carry that lesson into every part of my life since.

Because most of us won’t be the star, but every one of us has the chance to be a great teammate.

And I’m not done yet.

There’s still plenty more games left to play.

Long Walk Back

Lots of soccer over the past couple weeks with Copa and Euro Cup happening and like many years lots of tie games. I love good analogies and to analyze things we see in our everyday and relate them to life, my life, and things happening around me. 

During penalty kicks to break a tie game each team gets 5 shots. One player at a time, walks from midfield, all the way to the PK spot to take their shot. While there are thousands in the stands, their team on the side lines, the other kickers at midfield, I know they feel alone. I know they feel the weight the world on their shoulders, I know they are looking at that goalie and thinking:

"I have one shot, don't screw this up." 

They have played a long game, often over 120 minutes of soccer, a physically demanding sport. I know they don't feel tired when they walk toward the ball. The emotions of the moment, the memory of the thousands of times they practiced this exact same kick flash in their brains. Do I go left, do I go right, do I stutter step, do I slam it right down the middle and hope the keeper goes left? 

They know they aren't the only kicker, they can make theirs, and the team still loses. They know they can miss theirs and the team can still win. At the end of the day, they have one job now, one focus, to make that one goal. 

There are effectively in my mind three ways it goes:

1 - They score. Crowd goes wild, they often celebrate like they won, the veterans usually don't as they know, they know it's not over, for the player the feelings of relief, success, satisfaction... 

2 - The keeper blocks it. Their shot was on target, but the keeper was faster, was better. These are more rare, and for the keeper what is absolutely joy and celebration, is mirrored in defeat on the face of the kickers. 

3 - They miss... shot was off target, no goal. Less celebration from the keeper, but still the outcome for their team. 

If the player who misses, for whatever reason, a block or bad shot, they have a long walk back. I know that walk, the feeling that you just put it all out there, that you did your best, you played your time all night, you had some brilliant moves, earlier in the game the crowd went nuts for you over a kick or a slide, and you imagined the celebration of success at the end... which now, might not come, and you at the moment, feel like if it doesn't come, it is all your fault. 

That Long Walk Back has been on my mind, in work, in life, in so much. Maybe I am watching too much soccer, or maybe this is a good analogy about how I am feeling and I wanted to write out my thoughts. 

As a parent, as a partner, as a CEO, as a son, as a board chair... you often have that feeling of being alone. That feeling of walking out to the PK spot, you can't hear the cheers for you, you forget about your successes (and failures) on the pitch earlier, you just look at that ball, and look up at the huge net, and you have to tell yourself, I can. 

You make your plan, you pick your strategy, you start your step, and you shoot. 

The Long Walk Back is on your mind, you fear failure, we all do, no one wants that long walk back. What you don't think at the time is, that regardless of your kick, the team could still win or lose. It is a team sport, we win together, we lose together. It doesn't feel like it, especially if you miss and have to take the long walk back. 

Two weeks ago Messi, arguably one of the greatest of all time, missed his PK. He took the Long Walk Back, but his team still pulled through and won that game, and ultimately the championship. I remember Baggio missing his PK in '94, Ronaldo missed a PK just this month. Weirdly we remember the misses, and they hurt the most at the time, but there are so many other moments. 

Don't worry, I am not comparing myself to Messi, but making an example that anyone can miss. I know the misses hurt the most and one miss can diminish ten goals. 

I miss a lot of shots. As a dad, as a partner, and recently I feel like that as a community leader. Sometimes feeling like you played a great game, you played your best, but you missed your PK. I sometimes feel like I am on that long walk back, wondering through your head what you could have done differently. 

We might still win, the outcome can be in our favor, our goal as a team, as a community, might be met. You don't know that now, but I know I feel like I let the team down. Yes on the long walk back your team tells you it is okay, but it doesn't feel okay. You think, while the outcome might still be in our favor, you can barely even watch the rest of the kicks as yours is still racing in your mind. 

I still remember Baggio's miss in '94, we joked about it all the time on my high school team, any time someone missed their PK... you pulled a Baggio! He didn't quit, he made many shots after that one. 

So yeah I wrote this for me, but maybe for you as well. Maybe you just made your shot, but your team lost. Maybe you just missed a shot, missed it badly, and maybe your team will win or lose, but to your feelings it all doesn't matter right away... but that can change. 

Just know that you aren't alone on that Long Walk Back, and it's not over until you quit, so get ready another shot is coming right up.