There are some days like these.
Days when I feel like the new bloke sitting on the bench at game day for a top-notch football team.
The coach knows you've got something in you to go out there and do it, and expects you to be at practice daily. There you are at practice, every single day, rubbing shoulders with the seniors and other newbies alike. You try and pick up a few tricks of the trade from the club legend, but you're still awestruck at the thought of playing side by side with him, on the same wing.
You take one look at the other blokes your age who joined with you, practicing as hard as you do. Some of them are pedigree players, who worked their way up the club and were stars of the junior squad; some worked their way to the team playing in the dusty streets and grounds of a South American country until the scout spotted in them what he saw in you. Neither a club junior, nor a sweaty player, you were one of the regulars with a genuine love for the game, and some decent statistics in the local league to back it up with.
In the midst of all of this, you pause, take a deep breath, and think how you ended up here. You always wanted to play for this club. The moment you enter the stadium on a match day, even on the bench, the roar of the audience gives you an adrenaline rush like never before. The day you got your kit and uniform, you kept it on the same bed as you would, as a child, keep your new cleats, and slept, surprised and with a little disbelief.
Fast forward to the present. It is match day, and here you are, on the bench. Sure, you've had your moments of glory earlier on in the season, with some good performances, especially when standing in for the injured player and scoring that goal which led to a crucial draw. Deep within, you still feel that you're not being given a chance to compete for the full length of 90 minutes. The coach knows you're good, but he needs to test you more. For each little splendid moment you spent on the field, you had a few fumbles too. Some weak passes here and there, a missed free kick, and a scuffle on the field that earned you a yellow card and a little reputation. You know the coach hasn't given up on you, and he won't. But you know he's watching you keenly. He wants you to grow, learn and be the man who can play those ninety minutes in keeping with the standards of the club.
You're frustrated waiting for those ninety minutes. You're frustrated because you want to go out there, be tested, be tired, and get the fame and glory that comes with being a top notch player with a top-notch team. You're afraid of wasting your potential with rookie apperances on the field, and are afraid of being a flash in the pan.
This is where you fail.
The part where you go for glory, for your name to be chanted by the crowd, for people and other young footballers to be able to look at you like they look at the 15 year club veteran when he takes ground. This is where the hunger for glory takes over the passion for the sport, and it hunts down every good reason you had to be what you are today, and makes you insecure and worrisome.
Today, break that dream of false pride and fear. Pray, not for glory but for victory. Play hard, fair and smart. Play, as a wise man once said, for the name on the front of the jersey and for the love of the game, and they will remember the name on the back. Count your blessings, remember why you love the game, remember the people that always love you, and carry on. One day, your name will shine as bright as the silverware that your club has won a record twenty times. Till then, all you can, and must do, is strive.
Days when I feel like the new bloke sitting on the bench at game day for a top-notch football team.
The coach knows you've got something in you to go out there and do it, and expects you to be at practice daily. There you are at practice, every single day, rubbing shoulders with the seniors and other newbies alike. You try and pick up a few tricks of the trade from the club legend, but you're still awestruck at the thought of playing side by side with him, on the same wing.
You take one look at the other blokes your age who joined with you, practicing as hard as you do. Some of them are pedigree players, who worked their way up the club and were stars of the junior squad; some worked their way to the team playing in the dusty streets and grounds of a South American country until the scout spotted in them what he saw in you. Neither a club junior, nor a sweaty player, you were one of the regulars with a genuine love for the game, and some decent statistics in the local league to back it up with.
In the midst of all of this, you pause, take a deep breath, and think how you ended up here. You always wanted to play for this club. The moment you enter the stadium on a match day, even on the bench, the roar of the audience gives you an adrenaline rush like never before. The day you got your kit and uniform, you kept it on the same bed as you would, as a child, keep your new cleats, and slept, surprised and with a little disbelief.
Fast forward to the present. It is match day, and here you are, on the bench. Sure, you've had your moments of glory earlier on in the season, with some good performances, especially when standing in for the injured player and scoring that goal which led to a crucial draw. Deep within, you still feel that you're not being given a chance to compete for the full length of 90 minutes. The coach knows you're good, but he needs to test you more. For each little splendid moment you spent on the field, you had a few fumbles too. Some weak passes here and there, a missed free kick, and a scuffle on the field that earned you a yellow card and a little reputation. You know the coach hasn't given up on you, and he won't. But you know he's watching you keenly. He wants you to grow, learn and be the man who can play those ninety minutes in keeping with the standards of the club.
You're frustrated waiting for those ninety minutes. You're frustrated because you want to go out there, be tested, be tired, and get the fame and glory that comes with being a top notch player with a top-notch team. You're afraid of wasting your potential with rookie apperances on the field, and are afraid of being a flash in the pan.
This is where you fail.
The part where you go for glory, for your name to be chanted by the crowd, for people and other young footballers to be able to look at you like they look at the 15 year club veteran when he takes ground. This is where the hunger for glory takes over the passion for the sport, and it hunts down every good reason you had to be what you are today, and makes you insecure and worrisome.
Today, break that dream of false pride and fear. Pray, not for glory but for victory. Play hard, fair and smart. Play, as a wise man once said, for the name on the front of the jersey and for the love of the game, and they will remember the name on the back. Count your blessings, remember why you love the game, remember the people that always love you, and carry on. One day, your name will shine as bright as the silverware that your club has won a record twenty times. Till then, all you can, and must do, is strive.
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