Where does the time go?

As much as I don’t want to believe it, I’ll be turning 26 years old next week. It has now been four years since I graduated college from Grand Valley State University (Michigan) and another four years since I threw my cap into the air as part of the Class of 2012 at Allendale High School (Michigan).

Many memories come flooding back when I look at those two diplomas displayed on my dresser. Included are moments of nostalgia that the Class of 2020 won’t get to fully experience because of the COVID-19 pandemic. I sympathize with them.

That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to start writing the senior stories we have been featuring in the Minot Daily News over the last two months. If anything, perhaps we could at least provide some closure to a historic, heartbreaking loss of a season for our local athletes.

Below is my senior story. A self-reflecting column I wrote eight years ago. Do I still agree with everything I wrote as a naive teenager? Honestly, I’m not sure. I came to a rather harsh conclusion (and I have since had much happier times on soccer fields).

But, I do know that reflecting on the moment and writing down my thoughts helped me move on. I eventually found my closure, and I hope other athletes struggling right now can find their peace of mind as well.

To the Class of 2020, stay strong and stay positive.

I’ll wrap up this introduction with a motivational quote: “When your life doesn’t go as planned, change your perspective, but do not stop dreaming.”

The cost of celebration

The referee had to stop the play once again. The game was getting out of hand. Tugging, grabbing, tripping and shoves to the back were being overlooked as the referee was more concerned about keeping the soccer ball in his sights.

I looked over at my coach, and he just shrugged his shoulders. He knew it was the wrong call, most of them were, but it wasn’t worth arguing about. Luckily for us, we were only down a goal with 15 minutes left.

It was a scenario every high school athlete dreamed of being in: The last game of the regular season on the road against our conference rivals.

It was my responsibility to gather the troops and turn this game around being a senior captain on the team.

Time was turning into our No. 1 enemy. As our rivals started using time-wasting tactics, my teammates began to get frustrated. The anger caused even more senseless fouls to be committed, only some of which were actually called fouls.

What we called a soccer game was now turning into more of a WWE SmackDown brawl. The crowd noise was overpowering the mysterious whistle. A glance at the scoreboard and 15 minutes had swiftly evaporated into just seven.

Then, the classic fairy tale ending. Almost like it was pulled out of a cheesy sports movie, where the underdogs find a way to win the game and there is a sense of euphoria while the credits roll — even though everything was made up by Hollywood producers.

This was no different — one of those moments where time felt nonexistent. An event I will remember for the rest of my life. But, for a whole different reason.

A sloppy turnover gave us possession of the ball and, without wasting the little time we had left, we went straight into a counter-attack. After a few back and forth passes, we found ourselves moving into their defensive zone. Then, a quick cross of the ball from one side of the field to the other had opened up one of our midfielders 25 yards from the goal.

From a location he had scored from a couple of times earlier in the season, he let loose on the shot. It was a hard-driven strike going toward the near post. The goalkeeper made a sprawling save and pushed the ball far enough out that it collided off the post.

The ball stopped right in front of me, as I had crashed the net looking for such a rebound. With a swing of my leg, the game was tied.

The crowd was stunned into silence. I was screaming.

My focus shifted from scoring a goal to weaving in and out of my teammates so they couldn’t create a dogpile on top of me. Then, I saw one of my teammates signaling to do a chest bump with him.

In the heat of the moment, I went for it.

“Coach, I need out,” I said, limping over to the sidelines.

My coach looked at me in disbelief, “What happened?”

The most I could get out of my mouth as I hobbled over to the bench was, “My foot.”

The team was still buzzing over what happened a mere few seconds ago, including the coach. Yet, the numerous high fives didn’t affect the pain I was feeling. Out of the cheers, I could pick out a teammate saying, “Great goal man, way to get us back in the game.”

They didn’t know I was in intense pain. It wasn’t until the whistle blew to send the game into overtime that my teammates finally realized I wasn’t on the pitch with them.

“Dude, are you alright? Come on. We need you,” one of them said.

I just stared back at him, wanting to give him an answer, but I didn’t have one. As the coach gathered the team to provide them with a parting message before they took to the field for the 20-minute overtime, I was just having a hard time standing on my feet. Any pressure I put on my left foot rushed a surging pain through the rest of my body.

Coach then turned to me as the scoreboard dwindled down to signal the start of overtime, “Can you play?”

Everybody’s attention went on me. I shifted all of my weight onto my left foot, trying to convince myself I could still play, but again another sharp pain circulated up through my leg. I shook my head and sat down on the bench, unable to stand any longer.

As the game went on in the background, a few teammates on the sidelines started asking me what had happened. I wanted to give them a different answer than what was true, but I knew it was in the best interest of my health to tell them — despite my embarrassment.

“I think I landed on it wrong,” I said, only revealing half of the story.

“When?” he asked, trying to reveal the whole truth.

“The chest bump during the celebration,” I said.

Surprisingly, he held back his laughter and helped me stretch out the muscle. But it was pointless. I wasn’t coming back into the game, and they didn’t need me either. They scored two more goals and won 4-2. But, unlike the game, the final whistle didn’t conclude my story.

After being carried to the team bus, we headed back home. Everyone was so happy, but that sense of joy couldn’t pierce through the agony I was in. I was angry at myself more than anything.

One simple celebration that went horribly wrong ended my high school soccer career. The state playoffs were three days away.

A chest bump inflicted a nasty high ankle sprain. As much as I wanted to take the field for that playoff game, my body wouldn’t allow it. All those practices and long conditioning sessions had fallen to the wayside due to a silly celebration.

But, the worst part had to be watching my team lose the playoff game 2-1. The outcome left me with all these “what if” statements. The biggest one being: What if I had played, would we have won?

A year later, I still don’t have the answer, but I think the better question I should have asked myself is, what is worth celebrating?

That question goes deeper than just playing the game I love.

There are plenty of right answers to such a simple question, but after my experience, I came to a rather different solution. Winning causes this incredible moment of happiness, and we express ourselves through celebration. But, at some point, a line has to be drawn.

In my extreme case, I found that line.

I hope decades into the future I will forget about that playoff game I couldn’t play in, and remember that the last time I crawled off the field, I had scored a game-tying goal.

However, I don’t think life works that way. I will have to live with my decision to go up for that chest bump for the rest of my life. Was it worth it? No.

This is the opinion of Alex Eisen. He covers Minot State athletics, the Minot Minotauros and high school sports. Follow him on Twitter @AEisen13.