Family

            Last summer, I was selected by the coach at Piedmont High to travel to San Diego and play lacrosse with a group of strangers from all over the Bay Area. Seeing that he said he had created this team at the spur of the moment, I sensed something was fishy.  To no surprise, the first practice went horribly.  The team was so disorganized it was like wild goose chase.  People couldn’t pass and catch, there was zero communication, and we barely knew what this team was about.  So far my doubts had been enforced.  The only reason why I didn’t leave the team was because of my parents.  They felt that I needed to get as much practice as I could regardless of the team’s skill level.  When the second practice rolled around, things had not improved, which only made me even more skeptical.  The coaches handed out jerseys and game shorts, attempting to create a team atmosphere, which I felt failed miserably since we had not gelled together at all.  The only thing that went through my head was the fact that we were going to inevitably lose in the upcoming tournament against teams from all over the country.

            It was six o’clock on a Friday morning, and the mist hung low around the Oakland Airport.  Halfheartedly, I lurched out of the car. 

“Mom, this is going to suck,” I groaned.
            “How are you so sure?” she replied.  “It could be fun.”
            “Whatever, this is going to suck,” I mumbled.

The chill of the morning mist made me shake.  As I dragged my luggage into the check-in area, I saw a few of my teammates.  We managed to exchange greetings, and I ended up following them to the gate in uncomfortable silence.  The generic pattern of the carpet and boring décor around me added to the awkwardness of the situation.  As we approached the rest of the team, I noticed that everyone else was feeling exactly the way I did.  There were scattered groups of players sitting in silence staring into nothing.  Fortunately, my friend Connor Jackson strolled by with a Gordo’s burrito in hand.
            “Wassup fellas?” Connor exclaimed.

Suddenly, a pulse of life sparked within the team.  It’s as if the ice had been broken.  Connor’s carefree, optimistic attitude seemed to rub off upon us.  At that moment I thought, This trip might not be that bad.
            The plane ride lasted forever, but it proved useful for the players to get acquainted with each other.  The whole way down, the back of the plane vibrated with the conversations of the team.  I wouldn’t have thought that we would all actually get along seeing that we were all players from rival teams.  When we landed, our coach proposed a game.  Whoever’s luggage came out of the machine first would receive the pot of money that everyone put a dollar into.  Even at the expense of a dollar, I felt as if the team was starting to bond.  We were beginning to become a family.

This time of year, San Diego was averaging from about ninety to one-hundred degrees.  It felt like a living hell, not to mention when you are in full pads and playing lacrosse in the afternoon sun.  Upon arrival at San Diego State University, we chose our roommates that we would crash with for the rest of our stay.  As Connor and I entered our room, we were welcomed by a blast of intense air conditioning.  A split second away from hopping in bed to relax, I heard a blaring whistle in the hallway.
            “Fifteen minutes till game time.  Get your shit on!” Coach bellowed.
Here it goes I thought, our first game.  I didn’t know what to expect.  On one hand, the team was becoming close, but on the other we only had two team practices before arriving in San Diego.  All I could imagine was our opponents pummeling us with their massive players and amazing stick skills. Doubt began to fill my mind.  As we marched onto the field in the blazing sun, we saw the opposing team from Utah staring us down in silence from the other side of the field.  It was like the calm before the storm.  I could feel a disaster about to occur. 
            “Captains come to the center X,” the referee commanded.
Casually walking to the X, I saw Utah’s captains walk up with “eye black” streaked down their cheeks in a warrior-like fashion.  As the referee paced back and forth reciting the rules, I felt like I could literally hear the other team grunting as they prepared to play us.

“Players get to your positions,” the referee said.
Walking to the midline, I thought to myself, This team means business; they’ve got their first impressions down.

Finally, it was time to start the game.  We won the first face off gaining our team possession, setting the fast pace tone for the rest of the match.  We continued to win face offs and slammed in goal after goal.  Slowly we saw Team Utah’s enthusiasm and optimism dwindle away.  Before we realize, the second half was over and surprisingly enough we had a four-point lead.  Utah was completely demoralized.  By the time the game ended, we had won by six.  There was something about our team that allowed us to come together at the very last moment to bring us a win, and I had no idea what it was.  As we shook hands with the other team, we could see they were just as surprised as we were.  From their perspective, we looked like a bunch of scrubs with lacrosse sticks who didn’t even know each other.  But regardless, winning our first game renewed my faith in the team and that’s when things began to pick up.

Walking back to the dorms that evening might have been the most refreshing part of the trip.  Spirits were high, and I felt like no one could stop us.  But then came Team Arizona, blasting their music from their boom box, being obnoxiously rowdy. 
            “Wassup bros?” Arizona’s defender called out.
            “What’s up...” I replied.
            “You guys looked pretty good out there today,” he sarcastically commented.  “We destroyed Team L.A. today.”

By the way Team Arizona presented themselves and spoke; I could tell they were full of shit.

“I think we’ll be seeing you guys in the finals,” Arizona continued.  “It’ll be a good game.”
            “Yeah, dude!  I gotta go though, peace brohan,” I snapped back sarcastically.

I then walked into the dorms with a newfound resentment towards these guys.  The only thing that I could think about was beating this team to a pulp.

            The next day, the team decided we should go venture to the campus and find a place to eat.  After a few hours of searching for food in the baking sun, we decided San Diego State had the worse selection of restaurants.  Ever.  Throwing the idea of food away, we somehow ended up sneaking into a fraternity’s backyard pool. 

As we dived into the water, a voice from the roof called out, “We just chlorinated the pool dudes.  Don’t get it too dirty now.” 
Who in the right mind would let a group of fifteen sweaty teenagers into their pool expecting it to be clean, I thought to myself but didn’t really care.  A couple hours passed and it was time for us to get back to the dorms and get ready for our semi finals game.   The mood couldn’t have been any better; we just went swimming, were undefeated, and were about to roll over the next team.  We grabbed our bags from our rooms and walked to the field, full of confidence.

            As we thought, the opposing team was no match for us.  They were a bunch of hotheaded kids talking shit to us, but no matter.  We had the lead the whole game and won by eight.  We left the field with the same confidence we entered with despite the fact that Team Arizona had been causing a ruckus on the sidelines trying to prove their superiority.  Nothing could stop us now.

            The next morning, we were woken by our coach an hour earlier than usual.

“Everyone in the meeting room now,” he said calmly.

No one knew what was going on.  Until now, I thought our team had been on our best behavior and everything had been going well. 
            As we entered the room, our assistant coach began by saying, “We are family.  When things go wrong, we address the problems as a family.”

“Someone has broken our “no substances” rule and I’m trying so hard not to pull us out of this tournament,” the head coach added quietly.  “Someone was not acting normal and had red eyes during the game last night.  Fuck it, I’m just going to run the shit out of you.”
            The first thing that shot through my mind was- swimming.  We went swimming in a newly chlorinated pool, no wonder our eyes were red.  How could Coach be serious?  Was Coach actually going to pull us out of the tournament because of speculation?

“Piedmont kids stay here.  The rest of you are dismissed,” murmured the head coach.

As I left the room, I could hear the head coach screaming at the top of his lungs, blaming each one of them for being reckless and idiotic.  I had never seen someone so angry before. 
            Before I knew it, we were in full pads under the scorching sun desperately gasping for air.  It was one hundred and five degrees, with plenty of humidity to go around.  The stench of sweat, body odor, and vomit emanated from our surroundings.  All we could hear was the desperate panting of our teammates and the tired thudding of feet.  With every step, a vigorous pain shot through our muscles.  Meanwhile, the acute cry of our coach’s whistle told us to get back on the line over and over again. We’ve probably been running sprints for an hour or so and I start to see players peeling off the field to throw up.  What is going on I asked myself.  Honestly, I’ve never felt shittier in my life.  We had the championship coming up, and we were killing ourselves by sprinting.  It seemed like our undefeated run would be coming to an end.
            By the time we are done, the team collapses in a pile in the middle of the field.

            “At least we are done,” Connor panted.
            “It’s about to be game time.  This is going to be all bad,” I replied.
            “Fuck it, man.  Let’s just do this thing,” Connor exclaimed.

Connor then got up, put his pads on and got back on the field.  The rest of the team and I were utterly surprised he could even stand up.  At that moment there seemed to be a surge of energy that brought all of us back to life.  We didn’t come to San Diego for nothing.  We were here to win.  Screw being tired.  Team Arizona had nothing on us.

            Obviously physically fatigued, but mentally keen we lined our bags up along the sideline.  This was the last game we would play with each other and we all knew that we had to make it count.  Team Arizona strolled onto the field all wearing board shorts and with a boom box acting as if this game was a going to be a fluke.  I could feel the team’s inner beast within getting ready to pounce on Team Arizona and show them who was boss.  As players took their positions and the first whistle of the game cried, the battle began.  At first it, we were evenly match, but the intensity began to pick up on our side.  Making zero mistakes, we kept possession, continuously testing the goalie with blaring shots.  We started to see their team’s endurance wear down as we kept them on the defensive end.  It was then half time and we had the lead.  Things were looking good for us.  Full of energy in the second half, we blasted through Team Arizona with a barrage of goals.  I could feel the adrenaline pulsing throughout the team.
            “Don’t let this slip guys,” I commanded in the huddle.  “This is fucking it! We didn’t run those sprints for nothing did we?”

The second we got back on the field, the team seemed to be in complete unison with every movement and every thought.  We continued to add pressure onto our opponents and saw them crumble beneath it.  The game was finally coming to an end and we knew it was a wrap.  Team Arizona was done for.  They were no match for us.  We were family; we were champions.