It was the Manhattan Soccer Tournament, and my first year on my new soccer team. All of my new teammates were on the verge of becoming some of the greatest friendships I’ll have ever made. Little did I know that in the near future we would become so close that our friendships would still remain even four years later. This tournament was only our second, so we were still adjusting to everyone’s particular skillsets. The pressure was on as the older girls’ soccer coach was helping out.

During practice, I had been striving for a starting position in these games by working hard. I also aspired to impress the other coach. I reminded myself of this before I stepped out of the car and was bombarded by the harsh February weather. It was the cold air with just the right amount of wind to make someone question whether or not they should wear under armor.

I had grabbed my sweatshirt and hurried behind the rest of my team. We all walked up a ramp then crossed the new turf field toward the forest of trees. It was still early morning, so a thick layer of fog hung just above the tree branches.

We quickly gathered our gear as we saw our coaches walk across the field after us. “Get warming up, girls!” they yelled towards us from the halfway line. The team performed our same warm­up as we would before every game. The same kicking of the balls, running, and the familiar sweat dripping down our necks. Cool air continuously stopped it from trickling even ?further before it could reach our backs. Soon we started the game. I started, expected, because I had been working hard all week. I had really stepped up that game. I made every tackle, and worked very hard. Much to my surprise, both coaches were impressed. I was relieved. My whole soccer career was to please my coach and I could proudly say I accomplished that. After the game, I felt different. Happier. I was thrilled that I had just had a great game.

These are the types of feelings I was glad I got to experience.

“Great game,” and a hug emerged from the crowd of parents. It was my dad. He knew soccer more than me so when he said I played good, I was able to believe him.

This same self pride washed over me over the course of the next two games, and soon enough, the tournament was over. Unfortunately, our team had fallen short of receiving the championship title. As we walked off the field, our team showed sign of defeat. Recognizing the negative attitude of his players, my coach gathered our team in a circle in a section of turf that was unused at the moment. He held this ball in his hand, probably from the tournament.

“You ladies played great this weekend,” he said along with most of the things we did not do. Near the end of his talk he said he was going to award an MVP for the tournament. Shocked looks covered the faces of my teammates. No one had ever been awarded an MVP and whoever it was, was considered the best player on the team. Or at least I thought so.

“This player worked hard all weekend and really proved something to me. She has come a long way since our first practice and really shined in these games.” I was thinking of a few people it could be, but never myself. “The MVP goes to; Sarah.” I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks and my heart raced just a little bit faster. He gave me the blue and white soccer ball that he held. I was ecstatic.

?It has been four years since I felt as much pride as I had then. Now, I walk back onto this turf field, holding that same soccer ball in my hands, and it feels different than it had four years prior. Four years ago it was my first year on my soccer team. The field now seems more used than it had, with fresh layers of turf to mask the real age. The size is a lot smaller than I remember, but of course I was only eleven years old. I do not entirely like the newness of the field; it makes my memories here vanish. I wanted this memory of being awarded MVP to stay here forever. This field is now preserved with even faker turf, renewed every few years and preserved with stale, cool air, brought by the lack of surroundings.

Here I am, relinquishing on the past that changed my life forever. I now see how a simple soccer tournament veered my life on a different path, and for it is fate that I am here again, but with a new team and new memories.
There was only one place on this field I wanted to be, at the section of turf where one could not tell that everything had changed, as if everything was frozen in place. I stood there, holding the ball as I had many years ago, envisioning my teammates sitting in the circle around me. I am brought back to reality by the cool wind blowing in the air that reminds me of the cold weather that had embraced me long ago. Everything had changed, but here, with this ball, everything stays the same.

That same ball stays in the same spot in my room, as it was when I had brought it home. In that spot, the ball collects dust and the colors fade. I never did use it. It always was more of a memory than a ball. Everyday I look at that faded blue and white soccer ball, and remember that my talent was valued then, but can still be valued now. Whenever I think I am not good enough, I look at that ball and know I can do it if I just work hard enough. That soccer ball has made all the difference.