Chapter Eighteen
Stryder
Standing on one edge of the football field, clad in complete uniform, I peeked at the crowd right before the game started. The bleachers were packed, the tension in the air evident. There was an excited buzz going around, on top of the upbeat music playing and the past games of Windfield Warriors and Freshwood Fighters being played on the big screens.
I couldn’t spot Tasha in the crowd, but I knew she was there. Knowing she was watching gave me a surge of renewed confidence and strength. We were going to nail this first championship game.
My dad was of course my biggest “fan,” if you could call him that. He was on the front row of the bleachers, eager to see me squash the opponents and get the highest form of recognition I could get. His presence should have been comforting, but this show of support wasn’t for unselfish reasons. This is why the very thought of him sitting there, watching me with an eagle eye, greatly bothered me and made me uncomfortable.
Nonetheless, I tried to shake off the discomfort and instead focus on the game ahead. As the team’s center, there was a lot resting on my shoulders, too. I had to keep myself focused at all times.
The announcer suddenly spoke, informing everyone that the game was about to begin in a few minutes. I went inside to join my teammates as we awaited the start of the opening ceremonies.
When our team name was finally called, we all broke into a loud cheer, chanting “Hut! Hut! Hut!” as we chugged on outside to the middle of the field. The crowd went wild. It wasn’t as invigorating as it once was for me, perhaps because I had gotten so used to this already.
The flare of the sun streamed down toward one part of the field, casting a dramatic shadow on the cheerleaders as they waved their pompoms in the air. That very scene suddenly etched itself in my head, triggering the artist within me. I felt an itch to pick up a camera and take a snapshot.
That thought almost made me chuckle. Perhaps it was a result of how much I’d been immersing into my photography the past few days, constantly encouraged by my girlfriend.
Funny how the vision of taking photos of this event seemed to have a magnetic pull on me. There was a part of me that wanted to be in the sidelines, capturing special moments, instead of being out here on the field as part of the football team. I mean, I still love the sport, but perhaps I just wanted change. I needed a fresh perspective, something new and exciting in life to pursue and build on my own.
Positioning myself in the center of my teammates, carrying the football in my grip, I felt a surge of adrenaline pumping in my body. In just a second, traces of my yearning to be a photographer in the background melted away as I narrowed my eyes and focused on the game ahead.
This was a very important game, after all. I wanted to dedicate it to myself, to prove to myself that I could still be great in this sport and that I deserved to be playing for Windfield Warriors during this championship match. After all, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be playing again for a long time.
As soon as I snapped the ball between my legs toward our team quarterback, all the players broke apart from their initial formations. I positioned myself strategically with the offensive line, all my senses on super-alert mode.
The first few minutes of the game were already filled with action, the two teams eager to outdo each other and score a touchdown. The football kept on getting intercepted before reaching the goal, though. It was a tough match, both sides playing their best. I myself was trying to keep up, working off a sweat as I ran and dodged players and plunged right into the scrimmages.
By half time, I was already exhausted. I went with the guys to the locker room to rest. When I checked on my phone, the news that greeted me shocked the life out of me. I took in a sharp breath as my eyes absorbed the macro photograph I had taken at Green Meadows while we were on that hike. It showed a dramatic photo of a unique-looking bug nestled in a bed of mossy leaves—certainly one of my most striking snapshots. And now it was on Facebook for everyone to see. What’s even more shocking was that the photo had been published in an international online magazine for photography!
Tasha, a voice in my head whispered silently. I immediately knew that she’d been the one to submit this photo to the magazine. Without my permission.
I clicked on the magazine feature and was even more shocked to find a short write-up about me—a professional football league player who dabbles in photography as a hobby. The perspective of the article was a little bit personal, which bothered me a lot because I had always been a very private person.
A fusion of emotions bubbled to the surface from within me. In my mind, I knew I should be pleased or perhaps appreciative of this gesture because Tasha probably means well. However, a bigger rage was forming in my heart. I felt violated, because she’d clearly stepped beyond my borders when I had specifically mentioned to her that I wasn’t ready yet to share any of my art publicly. She knew how I felt about it and yet she’d gone on and broadcast it to the world.
My cellphone suddenly gave out a ping. It was Tasha, messaging me about the surprise, expecting me to be happy about it. She did apologize and was being real sweet about the whole thing, so I should probably just let it go.
But I couldn’t. Anger was getting the best of me, my hand shaking as I read her message. I didn’t bother answering.
Before I put down my phone, there was another message that appeared. This time it was from my dad. Of course, he’d already found out about the magazine photo and was infuriated. He asked why I was wasting precious time on this silly hobby when I could be working on my football career. Naturally, it added to the building turmoil in my gut. It stressed me out, and I suddenly felt like I was about to explode.
Fortunately, a buzzer sounded, signaling the resumption of the game. I went straight to the dugout without replying to any of the messages. My head was swimming with chaotic thoughts, my heart heavy with mixed emotions.
It was no surprise when I instantly shifted my anger and stress toward the sport, aggressively playing on offense and deliberately pouncing on the opponents with all the strength I had. I got away with some, but there were fouls called. The crowd booed, but some cheered. I was eventually sent out of the game, which was actually a big relief.
I was still worked up even as I trudged toward the dugout. Glimpsing the disapproving look on my father’s face, I felt even more perturbed. I didn’t even want to finish the game. All of a sudden, my resolve to play my best was gone. In just a snap, I simply yearned to shrivel into nothingness without caring about the outcome of the game.
As I watched the game unfold before me, with the other team scoring more than us, a pang of guilt began to hit me. I owed it to my teammates at least to do better. I owed it to our coach who’d worked so hard to train us. It was just painful not to dedicate my efforts to the people I most cared for.
During the last few minutes of the game, I begged the coach to put me in. He relented, giving me a warning look. I nodded and muttered a “thanks” before getting out onto the field.
The crowd was quiet, probably not sure what to expect of me. My teammates eyed me warily, but this time I was determined to win and finish strong.
The final leg of the game saw a stronger, faster, wiser Stryder Cooper cutting through opponents and even helping score two touchdowns. Now, Windfield Warriors was leading.
Everybody held their breath as the remaining minutes ticked off.
I was damn focused, channeling all my energy toward the goal of winning the game. We were all in the zone, our movements connected, all leading us to a common destination we were determined to attain.
Finally, the buzzer wailed. The championship game was over. We had won.
I cheered along with my teammates and felt myself being carried on the shoulders of some of the other big guys. It was a glorious moment, but I felt a little bit hollow inside. I smiled and celebrated with the rest of the gang, but my heart wasn’t fully in it.
From a distance, I saw Tasha approaching, making her way through the throng of people on the field. I felt my heart jump, but the reminder of her simple betrayal overpowered any fondness I had for her. All at once, I felt my blood rushing uncontrollably, my teeth gritting, and my eyes flashing with ire.
She stood a few feet from me and actually stopped when she saw the expression on my face. I chose to stay silent, to look away, to just pretend she wasn’t there. Or that she’d never been in my life at all.