So I’m supposed to write a paper for Advanced Composition about my name. I have no clue what to do. Well I have been called smart and caring. I could roll with that. No that sucks, I think to myself. What does Robbie even mean? Well it says here on Google Robert means bright fame. That doesn’t sound like me. What have I done worth mentioning? And now I’m late for my first varsity soccer game, I yell to no one.
“Coach is looking for you,” says a teammate with a peculiar smirk on his face. “No.” I instantly think the worst. What did I do? Am I getting moved down to the junior varsity team? The walk from the parking lot to the locker room is the Boston Marathon. “What’s he going to say to me,” I mumble aloud as freshman girls walk past and giggle. Was my last practice terrible? This can’t be happening. It’s my senior year, shouldn’t I play Varsity soccer?
I now find myself staring at the door leading down to the locker room. Just turn around now and nothing will change, a voice says in my head. He can’t cut you if he can’t find you, right? I laugh to myself. “Good try.” I walk down the steps feeling like I am walking down into a cool, damp cavern. I hold my breath and open the last door to the locker room, and he is sitting there with a clip board. Not much to it. Lockers. A TV. An old soccer bag. And coach.
I walk towards him slowly, like a prisoner being led to the guillotine. A bead of sweat is beginning to drip down my back. I pray I won’t become the new junior varsity joke. Finally, coach calmly speaks up and says, “Robbie, you’re starting.” WHAT? I scream in my head. Is he being serious?
Feeling already uneasy, it’s as if a stampede of wildebeests is released into my stomach. “Well I better go warm-up so I’ll see you out there coach,” I stutter. I don’t wait for a response from him; immediately sprint up the stairs unable to keep the edges of my mouth from curling up. We huddle up and have our pregame talk. Coach looks at me, then at the team, and says, “Robbie’s starting tonight, and he’s going to do a solid job on defense.” I look around and I see every eye staring at me. “And oh, by the way, we want to get a defensive shut-out tonight,” screams coach before we break and hit the field. I laugh to myself, “No pressure.”
The game begins. My heart is pounding. I‘m nervous and my passes resemble a blind man playing darts. I just can’t seem to get my head in the game. The first half whistle blows and we jog off towards our bench. We are up one to zero but we are still determined for a shut-out. I see my teammate who told me to go downstairs and he laughs at me. He knows I’m worried but he says something I will never forget, “If I had to pick someone to play this role, I’d pick you.” Suddenly my nerves are gone. I no longer have any doubt.
The game ends and we have completed the shut-out. I hear the crowd with uncontrollable joy chanting, “Robbie…Robbie…Robbie!” I look to the stands and think to myself, that’s my name. I know I’m supposed to be here and I know I’m supposed to be a Robbie—bright fame and something worth mentioning.