05/06/05
By Ryanne Forcht,
Sports Editor
Joy, heartbreak, hope, anticipation, anxiety--the list of emotions that a student-athlete experiences over a college career can cover the entire spectra; and what do we have to show for it in the end? A scar, a trophy, a certificate, a collection of grass-stained tee shirts? I have all of these things to remember college athletics by, but the most important things are often left unseen and unrecorded.
As a glutton for punishment, I enjoyed training in the off-season; sweating and burning in the summer heat was my idea of a good time. The days that I didn’t want to get up early before going to work, the days that the wind was blowing and it looked like rain, the days that my legs were sore and my snooze button was inches away . . . those forgotten days were the ones that really proved my commitment to this program, to my coach, to my teammates, and to our fans.
Speaking of fans, every athlete deserves them, and Seton Hill University (SHU) students need to get out there and support the people that strive to live out the ultimate dichotomy as both a student and athlete. Even fans who don’t understand the game and just yell “kick it” are considered more thoughtful than annoying. It deserves mention that my dad, the infamous Big Don, as some call him, was always my number one fan. He was the one who shouted “GO RYO” and carried me up the hill from the field; he was the one who motivated me to run suicides by myself in the summer when no one was watching. Everyone needs a fan. Fans never know their true value.
I loved playing in the rain. It was something to be loved and loathed at the same time, especially on SHU’s (overused) soccer field. If you are familiar with Sigmund Freud’s idea of the “id” and “ego,” the id of soccer players is unleashed in the rain--although I am unsure of the exact statistics, I’d say nine out of 10 players become 80 percent more violent in the rain. I would guess that it has something to do with the mud and the ease of sliding through an opponent’s legs, or how our ponytails became lethal as they get heavier from all of the rainfall, and as we do quick turns, our opponents get smacked in the eye.
I vividly recall a bad weather game at Notre Dame University of Ohio where, after every goal, a teammate and I would slide through the center circle for about 10 yards on our stomachs in a Shamu-like fashion. I also remember forgetting to rinse out my jersey after that game. I could have cracked it in half after it dried because of all of the mud caked on it. Those were the days.
Rain was also fun because it necessitated the need for a sliding-header practice. Soccer teammates felt comfortable slamming their bodies into the field to (hopefully) bang the ball off of their heads and into the goal during a rainy practice.
I won’t lie to you all, what I loved most about soccer was the thrill of victory, the rush of out-sprinting my mark to the corner to deliver a cross into the goal box, the sheer adrenaline rush that came after scoring a goal, and the feeling that all of my hard work was paying off. I could deal with the limited time to do homework, the obsessive time management skills I had to develop to stay at the top of my class, and the look some professors gave me when I showed them how many classes I would miss.
I would do it all over again in a second. I would train every day, I would sweat and bleed and push myself to the point of exhaustion, all for just one more try for the championship, one more goal in overtime, and one more chance to look my teammates in the eyes, knowing we were going to take over, conquer and pillage our opponents.
To SHU, Coach Fogle, my teammates, the cross country team (who kept me in shape in the off-season), and the Setonian, I thank you.
Sincerely,
A retired university soccer player who would die for some overtime.
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