Column: A Goal I Will Always Remember

"I think you're going to score today."

After I heard these words, I chuckled at my friend Dalen, the goalkeeper of our varsity soccer team.

"I don't think so, but I hope so."

Following our brief exchange, Dalen and I go back to staring out the window of our soccer team's bus to view the familiar sights of Highway 97. We're headed to Bend to take on Mountain View High School for our team's third game of the season. The bus, packed full of members of our JV and varsity soccer program, is alive with chatter. Amidst the conversations are the faint and familiar sounds of players putting on their jerseys, strapping on their shin pads, and lacing up their boots.

However, I’m only focused on one thing. The nervousness I feel in my head. I'm not confident. I can't find a reason to be; the past two weeks have been dreadful. My dad got let go from his job, my girlfriend dumped me, and my first year as a full-time varsity player started dismally.

In our first game of the season, we conceded a goal in the first minute, eventually losing 4-2 to Bend High School. In our next game, we took a 1-0 lead against South Albany High School midway in the second half. However, our triumph was short-lived as our opponents strung together a flurry of four goals in the next 15 minutes to win the game.

In both games, I felt like a spectator. As a right-winger, my touches were few and far between. I went through stretches where I didn't receive the ball for what felt like an eternity. When I did get the ball, it wasn't anything meaningful, usually just a quick pass to an open teammate.

As a starting member of our attacking trio, I was expected to contribute goals and assists. Yet, so far this season, I have done nothing worth mentioning. No impressive runs, no decisive passes that advanced our attack, and, most importantly, no goals.

As our team's bus arrived at Mountain View High School, I had a feeling that today would be much of the same.

The overcast August sky looked befitting for the mostly beige, white, and gray-colored school. A large decades-old illustration of a cougar, the school's mascot, adorned a portion of the brick wall facing the street.

I held mixed feelings about the school. My mother had graduated from there, my older sister had graduated there, and I had even considered going there for quite some time.

Growing up near Tumalo put our family right between the border of the Bend and Redmond school districts. Because of this, my siblings and I had the choice of any of the five high schools in the area at the time. At first, I wanted to attend Mountain View High School in Bend rather than Ridgeview High School in Redmond.

I attended a welcome night at the school for incoming first-year students towards the end of eighth grade. But after seeing the mass amount of students in attendance and feeling like a lonely minnow in the vast ocean of high school, I decided to attend Ridgeview High School instead.

A win for our team today would make my decision look all the more correct. But as our team marched toward the pitch, I began to have more doubts. We caught sight of our opponents from across the field.

"Man, they look massive," I thought. The opposing group of players fitted in their red-and-black jerseys had at least five players nearing 6-foot-2. Without soccer uniforms, they could've been mistaken for the basketball team.

As our team started to stretch and go through our warm-up lines, the rain began to fall ever so slightly, probably not the best omen. Our coach stood unfazed with a solemn look across his face. Coach Kim had a knack for looking daunting with his black rain jacket, hat, and joggers.

Not long after, we were called in for our pre-match huddle. Coach Kim listed out the starters. A small amount of satisfaction always came from seeing my name amidst the starting lineup. I just needed to make it count for something this time.

Both teams took to the field, and only a minute later, the match was underway.

The first half of the game could be aptly described as a stalemate. Neither side had clear-cut chances or even a threatening effort towards the goal. The bout had not been a spectacle for the almost 80 in attendance.

I had been up to my usual standards, a few passes and nothing more. Once again, I found myself waiting and wandering about the touchline, hoping for an opportunity of some sort. I didn't even have a shot on target until this point of the season.

But as the whistle for halftime blew, both teams remained in a 0-0 deadlock. The players adjourned to their respective sidelines to hydrate and catch their breaths. We strategized different methods to break our opponents down, knowing that only one goal could make the difference.

However, once the second half began, it looked like Mountain View had found the difference, or so we thought. Just 10 minutes after halftime, the striker for the home team appeared to prod the ball past our goalie following a frenzy in front of the goal.

Needing a brief water break, my coach had substituted me for a few minutes. I watched helplessly from the bench while it seemed we were heading toward our third straight loss.

Unbeknownst to most on the field, Mountain View's goal came from an intentional handball by their striker. The infringement had been spotted by the head referee, and following a brief premature celebration, the player was booked for a second yellow card. A second yellow card meant the player was ejected, the goal didn't count, and Mountain View's team was down to 10 men instead of 11 for the rest of the match.

Shortly after, Coach Kim called me up from the bench and into the game. This was my chance. With fewer players on the field, there would be more space, and with that, there would be more opportunities.

In the dying embers of the game, I finally had my opportunity. One of our midfielders who had the ball skillfully maneuvered himself into a chunk of open space. I spotted a gap between two defenders and sprinted full force before calling for the ball.

The ball was played perfectly into my path, with only the goalie to beat.

I got to the ball.

I took my shot.

And the goalie saved it, pushing the ball away.

My moment had passed. My teammates were frustrated. The ball, as well as my dreams, trickled hopelessly off the field. I had scuffed my shot poorly and given the opposition goalkeeper a crucial save. The only silver lining was that I had won my team a corner kick.

As we set up for the corner kick, I felt determined to make up for my mistake. Several teammates and I made runs into the box, the ball was whipped in, and then my teammate created a moment of magic. While mine had passed, my teammate's moment had just begun.

Our right-back had risen stoically to knock the ball off his shoulder and into the back of the net. Our team went ballistic, and my guilt was relieved. Even if I had not scored, our team had finally gotten its first win of the season.

Only two minutes remained, and our team looked to possess the ball and waste out the clock. We won a throw-in further up the field on the left sideline deep into Mountain View territory. Before the throw was taken, the opposing defenders slid over towards the sideline with the ball. I noticed what seemed like an acre of open field and meandered toward the space without alerting anyone.

The throw-in happened, and I haphazardly raised my hand. To my surprise, the ball then took flight. I watched as the ball hung in the air for what felt like a millennium and made its way closer and closer to me. My eyes locked onto the ball as I positioned myself for a volley at the edge of the box.

The pass was perfect.

I stuck out my foot.

Whack!

I glanced up to see the ball careen magnificently over the head of the goalkeeper and onto the underside of the crossbar. The ball cannoned off the bar toward the goal line before bouncing off the ground and into the air.

"Did that go in?"

My body, somehow working against my mind, jumped awkwardly into the air with my arms raised. It looked exactly like the scene of Frank Lampard's ghost goal against Germany in the 2010 World Cup. To my horror, a Mountain View player continued to play on and clear the ball out of bounds.

A few chaotic seconds passed, and then the ref blew his whistle.

Almost every player, including myself, turned toward him. In near silence, the referee pointed towards his assistant on the sideline before dramatically turning towards the center circle and signaling for a goal.

The ball had crossed the line, and I had scored.

I was in utter disbelief as a few of my teammates excitedly rushed up to me to deliver fist bumps and high-fives. The small cohort of Ridgeview supporters cheered faintly from the opposite side of the pitch. A toothy grin beamed across my face as a heavy burden fell off my shoulders.

I had finally done it; I had contributed. I scored my first varsity goal and had finally proven my value to the team. I proved to myself that I belonged on the field. All the pain and struggle of the past two weeks were but a distant memory at the moment.

On my way back to our side of the field, I heard a familiar voice shouting.

"Ethan B!"

It was Coach Kim. I turned to look at him and saw his hand raise from his side to give me a thumbs up.

Smiling, I raised my hand and gave him a thumbs up.