The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the devastated soccer field. It was a field of memories, deflated goal posts, peeling paint, and the faint sound of years of games, laughter and tears. On this one fall evening, it was the stage for the most anticipated games of the season: the city championship final.
Jackson watched from the sidelines, watching the game unfold. His team, the Ravens, were tied with the Falcons, an enemy team who had dominated the league for years. Jackson had been with the Ravens ever since he was a kid, and in all those years he had never felt so weighed down by a game. This was his last game, his final chance to bring home the trophy that had gotten away from them for seasons.
Jackson’s talent was unarguable. He was fast, he had a hard shot, and the ability to read the game like no other. But for all of his talent, his leadership had never been strong. He’d been quiet, reserved, and happy to let his feet do the talking. The team idolized him, but they often hoped he would be the one to pick them up when they were struggling. Today, however, Jackson felt he needed to step up and be the leader the team needed.
The game was very intense. Sweat dripped from every player’s face as they fought in the middle of the field. With five minutes left the score remained 2-2. The ball rebounded to Jackson from all the chaos in the midfield. He made a fast break past the defender, cutting it into the penalty box as the audience went crazy.
He looked to his right. He saw his best friend Michael; he was running up the wing, arms out, anticipating the perfect pass. Jackson was aware of this. He could pass it to Michael and the goal was almost guaranteed. But something stopped him. Jackson’s eyes shifted to the goal instead. The Falcon’s goalkeeper was good, really good, but Jackson had practiced this shot a thousand times, even perfecting it in the dead of night while nobody was around. He could do it. All he had to do was do it.
He faked a pass to Michael and spun his body into a position to shoot. He swung his leg. Just as he was ready to strike the ball there was a whistle ringing in the air, then a faint sound of a body coming behind him. Jackson lost his footing, the ball flying off target, gliding wide past the goalpost. His heart sank. The whistle was blown and the play ended. The crowd mumbled in confusion. Jackson stayed glued to the field, holding his knee in pain. The defender who had tackled him was reaching out to apologize, with a face of concern. But Jackson could barely see him.
He was remembering the shot. How it was standing there, waiting for him. And now it was lost. The game finished with the last whistle with a draw, 2-2, and now going into overtime. In the locker room the air was thick with tension. Jackson was slumped against his locker with his head down, trying to push away the frustration that was nagging him. His knee throbbed but that wasn’t what hurt him the most. What hurt was the missed and wasted opportunity.
“Hey Jackson,” Michael interrupted his thoughts. He was leaning next to him with his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“I blew it,” said Jackson angrily. “That was my shot. I should’ve won it for us.”
Michael nodded but there was absolutely no criticism in his eyes. “You’re why we’re still here, you know. We’ve got more time to do it right. You’ve got this.”
Jackson sensed a spark of hope. Maybe it wasn’t the end. Maybe, just maybe, he could redeem himself.
The match continued. The minutes ticked by and the pressure built. Jackson could feel his legs becoming weaker, his knee throbbing with every step. But he couldn’t quit now. Not after so long.
On a second extra time, with only seconds remaining, the Ravens had one last shot. The ball was passed in to Michael, who played it into the box. Jackson moved for it, the defender approaching him. He saw the keeper venturing from his line, ready to dispute him.
This was it. This was the time he had been waiting for. He took a deep breath and dove into the air.
But before he could get to the ball, something strange happened. The defender behind him cleared out of the way, and Jackson had a clear shot. The ball came hurtling in his direction, and with a sleek kick, he drove it into the top of the net. The crowd went wild. Jackson was frozen, staring at the goal. He had scored. They had won. The Ravens had won. But then something nagged at him. He glanced at Michael, who grinned widely, his eyes sparkling.
“You saw it too, didn’t you?” Jackson asked, as if in amazement.
Michael arched an eyebrow. “Saw what?”
“The defender… He pulled back. He didn’t even try to stop me,” Jackson said, shaking. “It was like… like he let me in.”
Michael’s face altered, a realization dawning on him. “You think so?”
Jackson’s head was spinning, but before he could utter another word, the whistle was blown and the game was actually over. The Ravens had won. The trophy was theirs. But even amid the commotion of celebration from the team, Jackson couldn’t help but feel that there was more to that moment than pure luck.
Jackson ran over to the sideline to celebrate with his team. They dumped a cooler full of gatorade on him and their coach. After they were done celebrating and started packing up, Coach pulled Jackson aside. “Hey kid, that was some amazing playing you did today, and that was some shot!”
“Thank you Coach, I really appreciate it, although I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Wait, you don’t know yet do you?”
“Know what, Coach?” asked Jackson anxiously
“I paid off that defender in the bathroom at half time.”
“You did what!?”
“I’m sorry, Jackson, but you were never going to get a clean shot off”
“I can’t believe you did that!”
Jackson stormed off to his car on the verge of tears. He called Michael and crying he asked: “Did you know? Did you know Coach paid off that defender?”
Michael responded hesitantly, “Yes I knew”
“Why didn’t you tell me!?”
“I didn’t tell you because you were locked in and I was afraid it would mess up your game. But what does it matter now? We won!”
“I understand that, but cheating is not right, and now I must live with this guilt.”