The game meant everything to me. Without it there was no reason to live. I would give up anything to get a new ball or a new pair of boots. This was the beautiful game; this was football, or soccer as it is called in America. I was an aspiring, young, up-and-coming football player. I was scoring for my club team week-in and week-out. My club team was riding on my form and we were on our way to the state cup final. I was being scouted by many college coaches. I had it all, everything was going great. Then it happened.
It happened over a year ago, but I still remember that fateful day like it was yesterday. It is engraved in my memory. I’ve tried many times to get it out, but I cannot forget it. It is destined to be stuck in my memory for eternity. It was the darkest day of my life, getting hurt and knowing I may never be able to play the sport I love again.
It was Wednesday, May 5, 2012 and I was getting ready to go to school. Something did not seem right; I could sense it in the air. But I did not think too much of it. I could not wait till school was over. I had practice and at the end of the week, we had our state cup final. It seemed like ages, but once the 2:10 bell rang I ran to my bus. I could not wait for practice.
There weren’t many people at practice, but I didn’t care. As long as I could touch the ball and learn more about the game I was happy. Practice soon began and then it happened. These next few minutes are the memories that I have tried so hard erase from my head, but I just could not. I was on the left side of the field, some 30 yards away from the goal. Guarding me was Mario, a tall and lanky, but strong boy. I dragged the ball to my left foot and pushed it back out to my right. This created enough space for me to take my shot, which I did. This fierce 30 yarder looked as if it was going above the goal, but it dipped at the last second and unfortunately clanged off the crossbar. The ball came back out to me and I put my body in between the ball and Mario to shield the ball. I checked to my right, dragged my left foot behind the ball and cut it with the outside of my foot. Meanwhile during that motion, I had to plant my right foot into the ground. As I turned away, the studs from my right boot got caught in the ground. As a pulled the ball with my left foot, my right foot would not lift and as I tried turning away, my right knee just gave away. My knee fell into the ground and my fibula popped out of my leg. The pop in my knee sounded like I had just been shot and everyone on the field, even the other teams practicing there, stopped what they were doing and looked up. After my knee popped I was laying on the ground, unable to move anything. The nerves in leg were gone; I was unable to feel anything. I crawled to the side and packed my stuff.
The next day I headed off to the knee orthopedic and they told me to get an MRI. Those two hours I spent getting my MRI, I feared the worst and two days later, my worst fear was confirmed. I had three tears in my meniscus; I had torn my ACL, MCL, and part of my LCL. June 5th was then set as the day of my surgery and all I could do until then was wait and hope for the best.
The day after my surgery I asked my doctor, “How long will it be until I can play again?”
“At least 9 months,” he replied.
I told him, “Just watch, I’ll play again in 7.”
I worked harder than anyone because to me this was life or death. If I could not play again, one of my main goals in life would be snatched right out of my hands. I was not going to let this happen. I went to physical therapy every day, bared through the pain and suffering. My only reason for doing this was how deeply I was in love with the game. I had to have it back. Going two days without playing was terrible, seven months without touching a ball was unimaginable. Although I had many more injuries in my knee, I advanced through everything quicker than most people. The only reason this happened was because of my desire to play again. Seven months after intense rehabilitation, I was cleared and my goal had been achieved. When I walked out of the doctor’s office the day I got cleared I told him, “I did it!” He told me, “No you didn’t, this is just the beginning” and I have followed that advice ever since.
Looking back on these terrible seven months I can only take away the positives otherwise these seven months would have been a waste. I have to use this as a learning experience and I have learned quite a bit from this. One this I’ve learned is that anything is possible whether it is good or bad, so you must always be ready for the unexpected. And the final thing I’ve learned is to take whatever happens and turn it into something positive. Learn from what happened because you never know when it could come back.