Big Girls Don't Cry--They Score Page 6

  On the way back home in the car, I felt the pain begin to grow in my feet and I could feel the soreness build up in my body as well. So, once I got back home I ripped off my shoes and took off my socks and examined my feet. I found many large blisters at the bottom of my feet including my toes. I felt excruciating pain, and briny tears began streaming down my face.

  My mother came into the room noticing my pained expression and immediately came and sat next to me.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” my mother cooed in her soft-spoken voice.

  I couldn’t put words together as I was unable to speak and even breathe, but my mother noticed the blisters on my feet.

  “Oh, honey it’s okay. Here I’ll grab some icepacks and the first aid kit to help you.”

  My mother returned with all of these first aid supplies. I kept an icepack on each foot for about 10 minutes and took pain killers in the meantime. She then applied a disinfectant lube to each blister to keep them from getting infected and then bandaged each one up. She then applied pre-wrap to each foot in order to keep the bandages in place.

  I thanked my mom and she gave me a comforting hug; a hug that was held for 10 minutes. She proceeded to whisper to me “It’s okay honey, that’s a part of life. If you want to be on the National Team some pain is going to come with it. But I know you are a strong brave girl, and you will deal with the pain like a true champion. You will keep your head up high and will continue no matter what the circumstances are, because of your strong personality and love for the sport.”

  Her loving words helped me to keep my courage and to continue to play. My mother always knew what to say and when to say it. She would always give me the advice I needed to continue and I finally took it upon myself to say these things to myself and to have the correct mindset in order to continue. That night I repeated to myself “I am not going to quit,” over and over again until I finally peacefully fell asleep.

  Chapter 17

  Sometimes Big Girls Cry

  I missed two practices after the blister incident, because I needed to complete many school projects and I had mid-term exams to study for. I am a part of the Middle Years Program for the International Baccalaureate school system, therefore my schedule for mid-terms are different from everyone else’s. The majority of students my age do Tawghihi, the normal Jordanian school system, which was very different from the IB.

  We would get a week off from practices–six practices–based on the Tawghihi exam timetable, which is usually a couple of weeks ahead of the IB exam timetable. Therefore, I would have to miss practices prior to the break we were given. It was already difficult to manage my time, because I go to an IB school. I also participate in Model United Nation conferences, including being a member of my school’s MUN club and to top it off, I have National Team practice six days a week.

  After I returned to practices, my coach started to punish me by making me work extra hard in practice. One time, while we were in the midst of a passing exercise, she simply said “Taleen go and run ten laps around the field and then do sets of planks, pushups, and sit ups since you think it is okay to miss some practices!”

  Even though she knew why I missed practices, she still made me work harder and drain my body to make up for the loss of practice and exercise over the course of those two days. I reluctantly ran around the field and proceeded to do the exercises she told me to do afterwards. After each exercise I performed, I felt my body weaken more, and I found myself panting heavily; gasping for air. It had reminded me of my first National Team practice, and how tired I felt after a simple warm up. I had realized how far I had come since then, and how I have strengthened physically, even though I endured a lot of pain on the way with some injuries and soreness.

  As I continued to exercise, and tire my pained body, I looked at the girls practicing on the field. Sama and her friends were looking at me and giggling and laughing at each other. I tried to ignore it, but the sound of their laughs grew louder and started to echo in my ears repeatedly. It was as if I couldn’t get their voices out of my head and because of it, my exasperation grew. I felt as if I was on the brink of tears, but I distracted myself, and I focused on what matters to me; my passion for football.

  I continued to exercise, only for my exhaustion to grow. My fatigued body couldn’t handle the immense amount of athletic stress it was put under, so I eventually stopped. I glanced at the field and watched the players play football together. I didn’t like the feeling of being isolated from the practice, and being pushed to work more than the rest of the team for missing practices with valid reasoning. I started to feel and believe that my coach genuinely didn’t want me attending practices, as I seemed to not participate in them more than any other player. I soon believed she hated me along with all the other players, and felt that maybe the National Team wasn’t right for me.

  After practice was over, I raced to my car because I grew upset. Once I got home, dinner was ready, and I sat down and ate with my family. While we were eating my parents questioned me about practice and how the National Team was going. I finally confronted them about the issues I was facing and how I felt training with them. While I was speaking I got emotional, and my voice became wobbly. My eyes soon betrayed me as tears started streaming down my face. I started crying hysterically, as I had bottled up all my emotions and they were all starting to pour out. I exclaimed how I wanted to quit the team, and that I couldn’t deal with the whole idea of being on the National Team.

  My parents tried comforting me with their soft gentle touch, and started reassuring me that it was okay to feel neglected once you have just joined a new team; however I pushed them away and got up from the table. I ripped off my jersey and threw it on the floor and stomped on it continuously. My dad pulled me away from my jersey and tried to talk to me but I ignored him and walked away.

  I went to my room and continued to cry, and by then I had cried an ocean of tears. My parents followed me to my room and softly caressed me to calm me down. They started giving me advice in their loving voices, and explained to me that my coach doesn’t hate me, and she is just trying to make me a strong player, and how she thinks I am talented. As for my teammates, my parents simply said to ignore their rude remarks, because, in fact, they were jealous of me. My parents reassured me that everything was going to be alright, and they told me I had to push through in order to be successful. It would require hard work, but they told me it would pay off.

  My tears dried up, and my parents gave me a comforting hug. My brothers Sami and Rami then walked in, confused about the situation and soon joined the embrace.

  I felt my phone vibrate, and I detached myself from the hug, breaking the embrace. I then checked my messages and found that I received a message from my coach.

  Curious and confused, I opened the message to find:

  “Hey girls, instead of practice tomorrow we have a game against the best U14 boys’ team in Jordan. This will be a good practice to kick off the season strong! Everyone wear your red kit and be sure to bring shin guards. I expect all of you to be at the field by no later than 3:45 to have time to warm up. See you guys tomorrow!”

  I repeatedly read the message, and I was confused by why she decided to suddenly schedule a game. My parents encouraged me to go and give the National Team a last shot. I agreed, but then questioned which team the coach was referring too. I quickly realized it had been the team consisting of the guys from my school; the guys in my grade.

  Chapter 18

  Playing for Her

  Today our U14 National Team had a game against an U14 guys club that happened to be the best U14 team in Jordan. Most of the guys on this team went to my school, so throughout the day we teased each other about winning.

  “Don’t cry when we beat you,” one guy jested.

  “Wait until you see how we play. Don’t be surprised if we win,” I teased.

  “Save the talking until after the match,” he continued with a slight laugh.

  “Okay, but I can�
��t wait to say I told you so.”

  After school, I went straight home, changed into my uniform and was on my way to Sports City. Once I reached the field, I saw everyone there all ready for the game. We warmed up and stretched together prior to the game and we were ready. We saw the boys’ team walk onto the field after we had completed stretching. I chatted with them a bit during our water break that we were given. My coach then noticed me and called me over. Nervous about what she was going to say, I slowly walked towards her.

  “Why are you talking to them?” she asked in a straight forward tone.

  “They go to my school, and I’m even in the same grade as most of them. I was just chatting,” I replied feeling a little frightened.

  “Oh okay. Have you ever played football with them before?”

  “Yeah, all the time. During physical education class and during recess when I was younger,” I answered, relieved that I wasn’t in trouble. The Jordanian culture was very conservative; therefore I thought the coach wasn’t comfortable with me talking to boys. Thankfully that wasn’t the case, but I’m sure she didn’t appreciate social contact with the opposing team because I had to stay focused.

  The coach looked at me, crossed her arms and stood up straight with her shoulder back. She then smiled and said “Alright since you know how these guys play, I want you to play as one of the starting players.”

  Shocked, my mouth dropped open. I had only been training with the National Team for three months, and this was our first game. It is a very unlikely thing to put a new player in as a starting player, especially me, because I had felt she despised me. Because I was surprised, I struggled to form a sentence but somehow managed to say “Thank you,” in a tremulous voice. She then patted me on the back and walked away chuckling.

  Prior to the game, our team huddled and the coach gave her last words reviewing with us the way we were going to play, and reminding us of what to do at certain times in the game in order to play our best. We then yelled “Long live Jordan!” in Arabic together as our team chant.

  I walked onto the field pacing towards my position. The field was nicely manicured for the game, and I had felt that the size of the field was quite intimidating. I then had felt the sound of my heartbeat grow from nervousness. It was ironic for me to feel this nervous for a match against the boys I am used to playing against, but I guess what made my body shake was the idea of playing my first match with the National Team. I knew I had to make a good impression; if I messed this up the coach would not let me participate in international matches and upcoming tournaments, or worse, no longer want me to be a part of the team. My nervousness grew as my intake of breath decreased, knowing that the beginning of the match approached soon. I stopped breathing as the whistle blew signaling the beginning of the match.

  Our team started with the ball, and our midfielders gradually approached our side of the field in order to attract the opposing team. The strikers however, pushed forward so when we decided to attack, we could simply pass to the strikers who have the advantage in terms of time.

  The defenders, including myself, passed to each other and waited for the opposing team to attack one of us. Once the opposing team started to apply pressure, we decided to pass back to the midfielders who then passed it to the strikers. Being that there were only two strikers compared to four defenders, we easily lost control of the ball. In a counter attack, the ball was passed to a midfielder who then shot from half court. It is an unlikely thing to do, but the ball managed to get pass the goal keeper and we were losing 1–0.

  A renewed sense of effort overcame me, and I was now more determined to win. As one of their players came racing down the field, I took it upon myself to stop him. I slowed him down by standing two meters away from him in a sideways position to lock him in the way I wanted him to go. He then had to think about how he was going to get around me. Knowing that he is faster than me he sprinted around me, but with my quick reaction I was able to follow him. I started to become more aggressive as I became more eager to retrieve the ball. He eventually lost control of the ball, and I acted quickly and took it from him. I sprinted to the other half of the field to try to get away from him as fast as possible. Knowing that he was approaching quickly, I immediately passed the ball to the wing midfielder on my side.

  The wing midfielder then raced for the goal, and as she felt the defenders gang up on her, she passed to one of the forwards who took the opportunity to shoot. The very talented goalie quickly blocked the shot.

  The game continued on with the opposing team having more ball possession and more shots on the goal. They started attacking from the left side, adjacent to me as they found it to be weaker. They eventually scored three more goals putting them in the lead by four points.

  The coach decided to switch me with the right back player as she felt like they were attacking from that side more frequently. She knew I was stronger playing as a right back as I am right footed and that maybe I was capable enough to stop them. I knew I wasn’t that strong of a player to be able to stop them every time, but I felt confident that I could do so enough to prevent them from scoring. My confidence shattered when I was on the side where the substitutes of my team were sitting.

  I could constantly hear them talking to each other about me, and their rude remarks towards me. I glanced towards the coach to see if she was paying any attention, however the coach was too focused on the game to even acknowledge them.

  I tried not to contemplate what they were saying, but their words wounded me and I felt the pain begin to rise in my chest. Tears dotted in my eyes, but I fought the urge to cry and tried to focus my energy on the game even though I had felt despondent to play. I reminded myself of what my parents had told me, and I channeled my pain into motivation to play.

  As the other team approached our half of the field, I raced to defend the player on my side of the field. Although before I could reach him, the ball was passed to him and he quickly cut me off. He raced down the field passing each upcoming defender, and chipped the ball over the goalie. I blamed myself for having poor timing, as if I hadn’t been so distracted I would have had the chance to prevent him from being passed to. We were now losing 5–0, and my sense of effort had been lost.

  The final whistle blew, and the game had ended. I kept my head down as I walked off the field, because I was disappointed in myself and, because I was too embarrassed to look at my teammates.

  The coach gave her final remarks, and had said how she was proud of us. She didn’t mind that we lost, and it was expected since we were playing against boys. She also said it was a great way to kick off the season, and that we just needed to tweak some things as there was a lack of knowledge in some parts.

  After the game, my pained expression was conspicuously shown as one of my classmates from the other team approached me and asked, “Are you okay?”

  I looked up from the field and glanced at him and said “I’m fine” in a brittle voice.

  “Are you upset that we won?” he questioned.

  I cracked a smile and giggled a little and replied “No, of course not.”

  “Plus, you guys even prevented coming from my side because you knew I couldn’t stop you,” I counterclaimed.

  He then laughed and said “Is that why I scored a goal after passing you?”

  “Oh shut up,” I joked.

  I then walked off the field and headed towards my car, and drove home.

  That night as I laid in my bed I further morosely contemplated the game and the rude remarks my own teammates directed towards me. I couldn’t fathom why they would discriminate against me if I was playing on their team. She is a dumb American, why does she get to play for the Jordanian National Team? She can’t even speak Arabic, why is she chosen to represent a country whose main language is Arabic? I hope the coach regrets this decision; she can’t even play well.

  It could possibly be a form of jealousy, as I got to play and they didn’t, or because of my ability to speak English well. Whateve
r the reason was, it still didn’t change the fact that they were saying these things to me. The question of why troubled me throughout the night.

  Chapter 19

  The Name on the Front Became Official

  The next day we had another practice. As usual, throughout the practice I was still getting rude remarks and comments about the way I speak Arabic and for being an American. Because I didn’t acknowledge their comments, it made them more determined to get my attention; so they proceeded to imitate my Arabic speaking skills.

  “Coach, can we please play a game?” she imitated in my obviously poor Arabic accent.

  Sama’s cantankerous personality exasperated me, and made me really angry. I almost felt like confronting her, something that I had been avoiding. I had only avoided doing so because I knew that she wanted me to answer back so she could further make fun of my Arabic. I held in my steam but I sensed an explosion coming soon.

  During the final water break, Sama came up to me and continued to harass me. Telling me things like “You should just go back to America. I mean there is no point in being on the Jordanian National Team if you can’t even speak the language.” Or “You can speak a little Arabic, but your pronunciation and accent throws your Arabic speaking skills down the drain.”

  Her actions had felt delinquent; if it were illegal to discriminate and bully. My exasperation grew to its peak, and the explosion started.

  “Sama! Just stop! Cut it out, I cannot take this anymore!” I raged.

  A look of a shocked expression quickly overcame her. She was surprised that I had finally cracked, and then proceeded to giggle.

  “Well you put this on yourself. You just make it so easy for me to make fun of you,” she replied.

  I glared at her, and quickly turned away walking towards the coach to hear her announcement. All my teammates sat in the middle of the field where the coach was standing, waiting patiently to hear what she had to say.