The Art of Rivalry

            It’s a crazy thing that two goals, 8,000 square meters of grass, and a soccer ball can turn a group of sweet girls, into a team of ruthless fighters. I thought I would be different, that I would not become a part of the cruelties of the sport, but after my first season I realized that not even the most amiable girl is immune to the pressures of competition.

            As seen from the sidelines we play a pretty clean game. Sure, we knock into each other or throw the occasional elbow, but that is just the nature of the game. We leave the real physical stuff, like punching and tackling, for the boys. Girls like to get in each other’s heads. For instance, if a team has a girl on the field who likes to control the field and make the plays, we have someone stand just a step in front of her so she never is open. She will become easily frustrated and start screaming at her teammates for the ball. So then when her teammates try to force a pass to her, our team can easily intercept it and continue to frustrate her. If a team has a freshman wonder who is good but still unsure of her skill, we double team her the first ten minutes of the game, let her receive all of her passes but take them away right away. The freshman’s confidence will be shot before the first half is over, and she’ll be afraid of making any risky plays. This psychological warfare is so subtle that not much is noticed by outside observers, but it is extremely effective. We can pick apart the team leaders and turn a team against each other. This sounds really shallow, but you don’t understand the motives behind our dirty play until you actually get out on the field.

            My sophomore year I was just beginning to play goalie, and even though I was definitely not prepared, the varsity coach had found himself without a keeper, and I was the only option. My Sheboygan Falls varsity team dominated the first couple games of the season, usually winning by eight or nine goals, and I’d only had to block a few soft shots. But my teammates always reminded me that these games were just a warm up for the big game against Plymouth.

            Plymouth has been our town’s rival forever. Wearing orange and black, their team colors, was taboo even in middle school, even on Halloween. The rivalry between the girl’s soccer teams ran even deeper. Plymouth had beat Falls in every game over the past seven years, and losing to them again just didn’t seem like an option.

            On the day of the big Plymouth game I felt a change in attitude amongst my teammates. There was none of our usual friendly banter or laughing before the game, no smiles or jokes. Instead everyone was focused, and even the pep talk before the game was much more intense. My coach talked of “uniting against our common enemy,” and in closing told us, “When that first whistle blows, the war is on!”

            My teammates played hard and had some nice shots on goal early in the game, but there was one slip up by my defense, and a Plymouth girl got a nice shot on lower right corner of the goal. I dove after it, skidded across the grass and mud, and tipped the ball with the tips of my fingers. I’d stopped the shot, but I’d tipped the ball right to another Plymouth girl.

            I was down on the ground, the entirety of the goal left undefended. The Plymouth girl standing in front of me, number four, had an open shot at the goal, an open shot at my goal and at that moment she became my enemy.

            I was still sprawled out in the dirt, and looking up saw number four touch the ball out in front of her, glide across the box and set up her shot. In desperation I reached out, grabbed her ankle and pulled. It was enough to throw number four off balance an her shot angled off, just wide of my goal. The referee saw nothing, people on the sidelines were clueless, and even the girl who took the shot didn’t realize what happened. I had been overcome by the excitement of the game, by the strength of our rivalry, and me, the little Sophomore who always played by the rules had cheated the other team out of a goal. 

            Plymouth went on to score a goal on me anyway, and then another. My teammates commended me on my tough play and for all the saves I did make. But I will never forgive myself for stooping that low and playing so dirty.

            I guess the competition got to me, or maybe it was that feeling of devotion to my team, the feeling that I didn’t want to let my teammates down. I had thought I was immune to the intense rivalry the seniors on my team had felt, but I learned that I was not much different from everyone else.

            Later after that game, I started questioning the reasons behind the rivalry. Why did we hate those girls wearing black and orange so much? I think that if I would have met one of those girls off the soccer field and spent some time talking to her, we could actually get along, or even become friends. The Plymouth girls are not bad people, but they are fighting for their cause and I am fighting blindly for mine.  If I had known number four, known what music she listens to or known what her family was like, I don’t think I could have grabbed her ankle and ruined her shot.

            There is so much violence and war going on in the world today, and I wonder if people really know who they are fighting against. If we took the time to get to know people from other culture or understand their religions, it would be much harder to have a racial prejudice against them. And if we knew and understood the people we were at war with, it would be much harder call them enemies.    

            I still don’t know number four or any of the other Plymouth players, and in a few days when my team plays them again, there will be the same rivalry. But maybe instead of seeing the girls out there as my enemies, I will see them as girls who play hard and love soccer, just like me.