MVP Performance

3-2. Not a good situation to be in if you’re losing the national varsity soccer championship with five minutes left in the game. Rain was coming down in sheets, drenching every person on the field, winning or not. Every player on our team was playing his hearts out, giving it all they had, but nothing seemed to give. I knew it had to happen. All I needed was the tiniest of faults in the defensive line, but the other team held steady, playing possession since they were in the lead, not giving us any daylight. Yet, I knew it had to happen.

Then I noticed it. A pass, from the opposition’s left back, that just didn’t have enough power on it to propel it all the way to the target. I jumped on the mistake, taking the ball under control and barreling past a defender. I found myself breaking free on the left wing. I saw the center forward charging into the box, expecting a cross to knock into the goal. I drove through the ball with my foot, sending it swirling through the air in a curling arc. The forward met the ball with his head, tapping it past the keeper and tying the game at three.

Two minutes later, the referee blew his whistle, bringing regular time to an end, but it was still a long way from over. During the short intermission before golden goal time started, our coach gave us a pep talk, telling us how we were supposed to win the game. I felt utterly terrified. The other team was evidently better than us; they just hadn’t turned on their afterburners yet. It was only a matter of time before they broke through. I felt myself trembling like I was caught in a winter storm without a coat frozen body. Maybe in some other dimension, I heard the whistle blow, signaling the restart of play. Immediately things went wrong. After the kickoff, their midfielder got it, and drove it up field with a powerful lofted pass.

Their forward received the ball and foxed our center back. He was in the clear, nobody between him and the goal. But then he faltered, tripping over the ball. He didn’t fall completely, but it gave me the chance to take the ball from him.

Since I had dropped back to defend, I charged forward as he was recovering, and then slide tackled him, and regained possession of the ball. Slowly but surely we moved the ball up the field, pass by pass. One of my teammates had been causing their defense problems all game long, and therefore he dragged a second defender over to the sideline, leaving me open in the middle. He passed me the ball and I noticed there were only twenty-five yards between the goal and me, and for a fraction of a second, nobody was in my way. I took my chances and put as much energy into that shot as I had left in me. I had aimed it perfectly, drilling it past the goalkeeper’s outstretched hands and into the top corner. My goal had turned us from underdogs to champions.

Afterward in the locker room, our coach said he had a few awards to give out. He ran through the list, until he came to the last one, team MVP. I was the last person I expected to win it. After all, I wasn’t even the team captain, or the assistant captain, or the top goal scorer, or the top assister. “And the MVP award goes to: Adrian Wells.” I couldn’t believe my ears, who was I to be the MVP. But the coach answered that. “He was chosen for several reasons,” the coach said. “Leadership, determination, effort, but above all, the best team player I have ever seen.”