After 120 minutes of playing our hearts out against the best team that the state had to offer, the score was tied and the only thing left to decide the winner was the heartbreaking lottery of penalties. Both teams had scored four penalties each, but they had missed the last one. Now, it was my turn to own up to the challenge and to decide the fate of my team. Keeping away from the piercing gaze of the goalie, I took a deep breath, ran up, and struck the ball.

As a former professional soccer player, my grandfather had a lot of expectations for me. Ever since I could walk, he would take me to teach me how to play the beautiful game. When we were in Albania, the street would be my stadium, with him guiding my every step. At the age of six, my family moved to America. Now that I was older, he took the training to a whole new level. Because he had work during the day, he would wake me up at eight every morning to practice. At the time, I hated it. I wanted to be like all the other kids, relaxing without a care in the world. Instead, I would be doing drills under my grandfather’s command, no matter what the weather.

Ten years later, I had joined my third club team in two years. Unlike other teams though, these kids had not played together for seven years. Their parents could not pay thousands of dollars for their development. They were all strangers taken from different corners of the city with one thing in common, a love for the game. In our first full season together, we failed miserably. We came out playing as individuals, ignoring what was best for the team and trying to change the game single-handedly. We took eighth place in a ten-team league.

That next summer, my dad became the assistant coach of the team. With the help of my grandfather, he began to mold us into what we had the potential to become. My grandfather truly valued hard work, so we practiced five days a week, working ourselves to the ground in the blistering heat while the competition was resting. There was only one acceptable goal for the next season, to become champions.
Halfway into our undefeated season, I received news that my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer. I couldn’t believe it. I found myself not being able to focus on anything. Soccer, schoolwork, and everything in between was left on the side while I tried to comprehend what had happened. It was something that you see happening only in movies and books; you don’t expect it to hit you so suddenly.

A month later, after I came to terms with everything, my team had found itself making a deep run in the state cup, eventually reaching the final. After two hours of playing, it was my turn to determine the outcome of our season.

As I was getting ready to take the penalty shot, I looked over to the sideline, expecting to see my dad mouthing some words of wisdom to me. What I saw left me flabbergasted. My grandfather was sitting right next to my dad, with the most genuine smile plastered across his face. Apparently, I had been so focused on the game that I hadn’t looked around to notice him. A small fire started to burn inside of me. I knew that this is what my grandfather had been waiting for, ever since I was a kid, playing in the streets of Albania. I knew what I had to do for him. I ran up to the ball and struck it as hard as I could. The swoosh of a net echoed through the field. Everything else seemed to cloud out for a moment. I had done it for my grandfather.