The Beautiful Game
Soccer, the most popular team sport in the world, is a fast-paced game with few breaks in the action. There’s one simple aim: to score a goal. On some continents, it’s called football. It’s also called footy, fitba, futbol, calcio, futebol, voetbol, le foot, foci, sakka, and bong da.
Everywhere, however, it’s called the beautiful game.
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All summer long, I’m a study in contrast. After my son Eric’s memorial service in June, so many people asked about the music we played that I’ve devoted myself to making mixed tapes of the many songs that have both moved and comforted me to share with them. Home alone so much of the time, this gives me purpose. Yet I’m also overcome with the need to do what feels right at any given moment.
Two of Eric’s close friends are performing in Into the Woods at the local theatre company and invite me to attend. I'm vaguely aware that Sondheim's musical intertwines the paths of Grimm's fairy tale characters as they journey deep into the darkness—and light—found only in the woods. My daughter goes with me, and we sit in the front row on folding chairs that have been arranged along the floor in the middle of the room. Actors move from the stage at one end to another makeshift stage at the other, often performing in front of us. We are, essentially, in the middle of the action.
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A soccer field, sometimes referred to as “the pitch,” has a goal centered at both ends. Within the field are markings for the center spot, where kickoffs occur; the penalty area and spot; and the corners—without which corner kicks would just be kicks.
Each soccer team has one goalkeeper and ten field players. The forwards’ primary job is to score goals or create them for teammates. Midfielders are the link between the defense and the attack and are expected to run the most in the game. In front of the goalkeeper are the defenders, whose primary duty is to stop the opposition from scoring. The only player able to put hands on the ball is the goalkeeper, and only within the penalty area. The sweeper, tasked with the job of “sweeping up” any attackers who break away from the other defenders, is often the last line of defense against the goal.
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Eric, never one to do anything halfway, had been in love with the game since he first stepped onto the field at five. By his junior year the award that meant the most to him had come from his coaches: “the player who eats, lives, and breathes soccer.” As they headed for sectionals on the bus, he'd foregone his obsession with Sugar Ray’s “Fly” long enough to lead the team in singing 70’s anthems—"We Will Rock You” and “We Are the Champions”—his energy and contagious joy propelling them forward to victory. No time for losers, indeed.
As sweeper, Eric honed his skills in lofting the ball, giving it just the right amount of lift to allow the offensive players to ground it and score. His finest moment? A 60-yard field goal, a kick that sealed the win against his school's long-time nemesis. He sent the ball airborne, soaring just above his teammates and the opponents, who watched with mouths agape as it dropped, with ballet-like form, gracefully into the goal. Eric's hands in the air as it flew, they mirrored the nearly impossible shot attempted by a defender with a rare opportunity to score. The crowd sat in stunned silence for a single, charged moment before releasing their collective breaths and breaking into wild celebration. It was perfect.
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The sweeper is positioned slightly behind the other defenders and is free to roam within range whenever necessary. Those playing this position should anticipate moves by attackers and make contact to steal the ball away from them. They must bring the ball under control, storm forward and move into the midfield zone, then pass it to the playmakers to support attacks. Also vital: acting as an on-field coach, directing players, since the sweeper has a good view of the entire field of play.
To do their jobs well, sweepers must close down gaps left by other defenders and anticipate slip-ups, stay clear of the sidelines, and be confident when handling the ball. They must always have the attention of their teammates, so they can inform them where help is needed. Above all, they must remain focused, since split-second decisions are often required for both defensive and offensive actions.
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The lyrics in Into the Woods, ripe with meaning in the best of times, are almost more than I can bear only weeks after Eric’s death. On the other side of a frightening journey through a dark wood, where she disregards her mother’s cautions and strays from the path, Little Red Riding Hood reflects on what she’s learned. Scary may be exciting, but nice and good are not the same. There are things it’s better not to know. She should have heeded her mother’s advice, but the wolf was so tempting. Oh how I wish Eric had listened, I think.
When the witch laments our children's refusal to take our advice and the inevitability of losing them to bad decisions, the pain is exquisitely perfect, the words written only for my ears. I maintain my composure, aware there are others who are watching. They see me here, Eric’s mom, and wonder how I will manage.
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During the turn of the millennium, the back-three sweeper system (composed of two stoppers and a sweeper) was largely replaced with systems that put more focus on the flanks and midfield, thus minimizing the need for a traditional sweeper. Yet in recent times, the classic three-defender formation seems to be making a comeback. The sweeper is free to get the ball in deep positions then make a forward run to instigate a formidable attack, which benefits his strikers greatly.
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Eric was well-suited to his role as sweeper, and his voice was commanding as he barked directions to the players upfield of him, leading with the authority of his position. Here he was in his natural habitat, my beautiful boy, feeling every emotion intensely, and the freckles stood out on his ruddy cheeks as he lifted his jersey to wipe the sweat from his brow. He used everything he had to keep the ball away from his goalie and executed sideline throw-ins, corner kicks, or penalty kicks with full force and his signature grunt.
Things were not as positive at home. The eldest child, Eric had led the way for his younger siblings with enthusiasm and joy. Now his bubbly personality had given way to an increasing sense of bubbling discontent. Our family was crumbling, a hostile divorce was on the horizon, and he knew it. Sides would be taken; we could all see it coming. The outcome was impossible to predict.
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Some attribute a slump—a period when a player or team is not performing well or up to expectations—to bad luck. While a player’s average performance may be quite acceptable, there may be times when performance is spectacular, followed by a dry spell.
Others believe psychological issues are behind a slump, that there are times a player feels less motivated or is less adept at handling clutch situations. Players may be depressed, lose confidence, and make a lot of mistakes on the field. Slumps happen to players of all levels, even the pros.
The first step to getting over a slump is to regain confidence. Take a break. Work on your mental game. Don’t try to change the past. Focus on having more fun when you play. Above all, don’t beat yourself up for every mistake. Accept it and push on with a smile on your face!
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It’s hard to assess what went wrong for our family, for Eric. His role in the family was changing. Everything was in flux. We’d lost our center and our focus. None of us knew the rules. Where to position ourselves. How to react. Whether to defend or attack.
It’s tempting to use sports metaphors here. You can’t win ‘em all. Tomorrow’s another day, another game.
Unless the season’s over.
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The role of the sweeper in modern soccer has long been debated, with some coaches considering it a must-have and others perceiving it to be obsolete. Reconfiguration of the players, they insist, can eliminate the need for a sweeper.
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It was a blue-sky June Saturday when the news came, the impossibly young police officer at the door, telling me there’d been a crash. Eric had lost his footing in the year and a half since he stepped off the field for the last time. I’d seen this day coming. That didn’t make it any easier.
I flipped through the pages of Eric’s yearbook a few days later, struggling to process the enormity of this loss. I expected to feel the little stab of heartbreak that came when I saw his hopeful face in the senior picture, though I also detected the slightest tinge of sadness in his eyes even then. My breath caught when I saw the quotes he had selected: “Live while you live,” and, eerier still, “What is done cannot be undone.” Meaning was everywhere, it seemed. Hiding in plain sight.
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The beauty in the beautiful game lies in the passion of the players. It’s found in the lessons about trusting teammates, supporting them when they are struggling, allowing them to support you. The best players make those around them better. It’s in the artistry of working as a team—outwitting opponents, the build-up plays, the final pass—and in the many ways in which the goal is ultimately scored.
The unpredictability of soccer only adds to its allure. Nothing is ever guaranteed, and there’s always the possibility for the underdog to triumph. The only thing that really matters, no matter how skilled the play, how many goals each side has made, how graceful their execution, is the score on the board at the end.
Yet even when the game is over, the beauty lives on.
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I count by threes as the actors sing, this is how I do it. It’s oddly calming and splits my focus, which is what I’m going for, the full weight of the words I hear too much to take on their own. I love this play, its message. I hate it. The lyrics continue to tease me with the glorious comfort of language that says precisely the things I feel: How do you guide your children when you haven’t figured it out yourself, when they won’t listen to you anyway? What good is being a good mother if they’re just going leave you in the end?
Is this what life is then, a series of people to love and lose? Hopes that rise and fall and ultimately only cause pain? And how do I continue, knowing it’s an exercise in futility? These are the things that consume me in the depths of my grief. But there’s redemption here, too. The witch sings on, about loss, about people leaving. It’s a struggle, out there in the woods, but it’s where we learn. It’s not forever, she reassures us. There’s always hope for the happy ever after.
And no one is alone.
I listen to the soundtrack over and over and I add it to my “Have a Good Cry” playlist. Sometimes that’s exactly what I need these days, song after song that cuts me in two, gets straight to the broken part, and puts me back together in a new way. Reconfigured. Almost whole. I’m getting there.
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In soccer, where well-trained bodies execute skills with ballet-like form, then celebrate victory with enviable abandon, it’s easy to forget the game can be violent, too. Around the world, injury and heartbreaking loss are the price players willingly pay for those golden moments of joy on the field. If they want to be a part of the beautiful game, they find beauty in the losses, too. They’ve learned they can’t have one without the other.
Casey Mulligan Walsh is a writer and former speech-language pathologist who lives with her husband in West Sand Lake, New York. She enjoys combining her love of language and years of grist for the memoir mill to write about life at the intersection of grief and joy. Her work has appeared in Barren Magazine, Brevity Blog, ModernLoss, TheFHFoundation.org, and Adoptive Families Magazine, among others, and is upcoming in Fresh.Ink and Circulation: Genomic and Precision Medicine, a journal of the American Heart Association. Casey can be found at www.caseymulliganwalsh.com. She is currently querying a memoir, The Full Catastrophe.