Breaking Lines
In the instant that the ball reaches a player’s feet, I’m desperately searching for a way to get it from them. It’s a vulnerable situation. I start shouting. And running toward them. I want what they have.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
I realize I’m standing in a tight space. There are defenders on both sides of me. There’s one standing directly behind me, waiting with the red eyes of the devil for the ball to land at my feet. She wants the ball to go to me. There’s a defender in front of me. She keeps turning her head back to see where I am. My head is on a pedestal; I look left, right, behind, to make sure they’re all still where there were a second ago.
They are.
The ball remains at my teammate’s feet. She isn’t sure what to do with it. She’s looking around the field, trying to avoid making a mistake. She looks at me then looks away.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
I drift back behind the two defenders on either side of me. I can see them now in my peripheral. I’m closer to the defender that’s behind me, but that’s okay.
In that instant, another teammate makes a long, darting run past the eyes of the devil, taking her attention away from me. She drops a few steps, distracted by my teammate. I stand now in a patch of space that feels free. I’m open.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
The player sees me. We make eye contact. I’m standing still. I’m not running away. I’m not checking to the ball. I’m just standing there.
The amount of time that free gap of space stays open is miniscule. It opens and closes. My teammate has to take a risk. I am the risk. I want the ball in that tight space. I want it right then. It needs to come at that specific time, at top speed.
She brings her foot back. I start thinking in my head, yes please, trust me. I can handle this.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
The ball leaves her foot and it’s coming right for me. It rolls right into my feet, past the three defenders in front of me. I take my eyes off the ball as I know it will hit my right foot. I feel it hit and I have it under control.
In the moment, I have a few choices. I received the ball in a way that allows me to go back or forward. I can go back and lose the two lines we broke, or forward, and try to break the third and final line.
There’s a safe route. Right back to the player who played me. This decision will keep everyone content. No arms flailing from the coach on the sideline. No disappointed teammates. No getting subbed at half-time.
Going forward though, that’s risky. That player is still pushing the back line and I can play some kind of cheeky outside-of-the-foot ball that could land right in her stride.
Then we will be past the final line. We could have a 1v1 with the goalkeeper. We could score.
I have no time to make this decision. My body acts in a way that has been trained for 30 years.
I receive the ball, look forward and make that cheeky pass. I stand there, watching the ball leave my foot, in my best bowling release form, willing the ball to curve as I told it to.
As the ball bends around devil eyes, into my teammate’s path I look around. Everyone is cool with the decision. It came off. No reason to be angry.
My teammate takes the ball around the goalkeeper. She passes it with the inside of her foot into the back of the net.