1980 That First Game

*Inspired by the song "1980" by Herb Alpert and true events

*

He stood on the soccer pitch and shook his head. How did I get here? went through his mind. A year before, Sheridan Lockwood was just a sophomore, a 15-year-old student who walked into the classroom at lunch to see what the student government was all about. And now, moments before kickoff, he stood at the midfield stripe, waiting for the referee to blow the whistle and begin the match.

Sheridan had some organized team sports in his past - Broncho League at 9, Little League at 11, Catholic Youth Organization basketball from 9 to 13, plus years of sandlot softball and football -- but soccer was never part of it. The first time he even touched a soccer ball was the latter part of 8th grade, when St. Luke's hired an actual gym teacher, and "indoor" soccer was played. This was a new adventure, a new sport for him, and the month's preparation should get him to perform well.

"You actually think you can play?" his mother asked when he came home with a permission slip.

"Yes, I do."

She shook her head. "I don't know about this. You should play football, like your cousins have." She took a breath and added, "You've been good at everything else, so why not?" She signed it, sending him onto an untraveled path in the family history.

Other family members, his older sister, father, and various aunts, uncles, and cousins voiced varied opinions, from positive "You're going to be good!" to negative "You're going to look foolish out there." Apprehension hit him just before July, just as he was going to visit family on the St. Regis Mohawk reservation.

Ever since he could remember, his father Isaac had brought the family to the birthplace of his mother/grandmother for a few days' visit, to meet up with cousins and other kids on the reservation. This year's visit would be just the two of them, the women wanted to stay at home and shop.

Apprehension grew more, not because Sheridan feared being ridiculed for his choice of sports to play -- most of the reservation boys played lacrosse or hockey, two not offered in the Schenectady school district -- but due to the fact that he always thought of himself physically inferior to his much older cousins, even to the just older ones, too.

His cousin Terrance Wheeler was 23 and back on the reservation after graduating from Syracuse with a degree in Physical Education. He had taken some Master's classes but the tribal council informed him that he didn't need it to help teach at the school. They wanted someone who would show the children there is more out there than the stereotypical alcohol and drugs. Sheridan feared that he would hear from Terrance that he was, in fact, going to make a fool of himself.

"Gio, you'll do fine! We've seen how you took to lacrosse last year, how well you played with us, even though never having picked up a stick." He looked at his younger cousin and added, "It's in the DNA, dude. We Mohawks can do anything we want."

Remembering how the reservation cousins called him Gio made him laugh, lessening the anxiety. Gio, short for Giorgio. It was the nickname the cousins gave him because he didn't look like a Little Ike -- a take on his father's nickname -- and because he looked Italian. It was also a slam at two famous entertainment "Indians," wrestler Chief Jay Strongbow and actor iron Eyes Cody, both of whom were Italians.

Sheridan smiled and looked around the pitch. His teammates were a mixture of experienced soccer players though mostly freshmen and athletes from other sports. The defense was made up of two baseball players, a basketball player, and a track athlete. The goalie was an experienced player who transferred into the city the previous year. In the midfield were three freshmen, all of whom had played summer soccer in the suburbs. The forwards, only one was experienced, the Argentine exchange student at striker. The left wing was another track athlete. And there was Sheridan, on the right.

He heard his coach clap loudly and yell out last moment instructions. He wanted Sheridan and the other wing to remember the defensive responsibilities, midfield don't get too strung out, and defense to kick it out if in doubt.

One last short prayer, to his ancestors and the patron saints of his families, and the whistle blew. Game on!

"Damn," Sheridan screamed as the ball bounded over his head. It landed a foot in front of the LaSalle defender, someone else who misjudged the ball that the gusty wind caught. The two rushed towards the ball, Sheridan getting a little further. He didn't need to scramble and turn around. A second defender came over to cover. This defender was taller, by at least three inches, than Sheridan. But the Schenectady forward, with the benefit of a running head start, edged in front. A tug on the shoulder brought him back even. The defender used his experience and strength to move in front. He thought he was clear of Sheridan; thought he had a clear path to his goalkeeper. The ball was still bouncing when the defender looked at his teammate.

"No, don't," the goalkeeper screamed. The defender, too confident in his own skills, readied himself to back pass. The ball was mishit, bounced up. Sheridan, stuck to him like fly to sugar water, put out his thigh to disrupt the process.

"NO!" Sheridan heard from several people. The LaSalle duo screamed simultaneously as the ball floated to the top right-hand corner, away from the goalie and to his left.

He celebrated, turned away from the benches, something he had not planned to do, something that seemed natural.

"Yes!" he heard come from the both sidelines. His coach, a man hired away from the best suburban school in the area, pumped his fist in excitement and surprise. He saw the father of the team's central midfielder, a man who supplied ice during the summer's two-a-days, cheering loudly, screaming and pumping his fist. For a moment, he thought of running to him, but knew better. He turned towards his approaching teammates and leaped into the air. He was caught by several.

He had scored. He had scored on his first shot, so to speak. He hustled and was gratefully rewarded.

Once the teammates left him, he said a silent prayer, thanking the Kanienʼkehá꞉ka ancestors for their helped, for giving him the strength to battle against the taller, stronger, and older opponent. He thanked the Polish and French ancestors who gave him faith, what little he had, to go out onto the field, despite the self-doubt.

Sheridan Lockwood walked to his bench and shook his coach's hand. "Thanks Coach," he said.

The game was over -- and lost, LaSalle scored a goal within the last minute -- but several things happened. Sheridan Lockwood proved to himself and several others that he could perform well on the soccer pitch. Sheridan and his teammates proved that, even for a first-year team, they could hang with one of the better teams in the conference. And, the Schenectady team proved that soccer would be played from now on.