Baseball

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One of my most memorial moments in my life was not to long ago; it was this same time last year at Plainfield Central High School in Plainfield, Illinois. I moved to Plainfield when I was seven years old. I didn't know many people and felt somewhat of an outsider. My mother told me it would be a good idea to get in to a sport to meet friends. My grandfather and uncles all played the game so it was natural for me to choose the game of football. Ever since then, the game has been life to me, that's all I played when I had free time in grammar school, up until high school and now in college. I made a lot of friends that year and slowly felt that I was fitting in. I developed close friendships with a lot of my teammates. During the off season most of us went to different schools and lost contact with each other, that is until football season in late July. All that seemed to change when we entered our freshman year of high school. The game became faster and more complex. Our friendships with each other grew stronger, we hung out with each other more, checked out girls, and most of the time just did stupid things kids our age did.

We went through three years of high school living in seniors shadows, looking up to them, and dreaming of the one day we would be seniors ourselves and be on top of the school socially and athletically. As freshman and sophomores we posted two undefeated seasons and two conference championships. A big part of that was due to our ability to work together as a team. We had good social relations thus we played well with each other, encouraging each other, and having fun while we were playing. So going into our senior year the media, town, and school all had high expectations. We knew the road to excellence wasn't going to be easy. We worked out and conditioned all summer long as a team to get bigger, faster, and stronger. We went into camp that year with the intentions to go undefeated and win the Illinois State Championship. We were all really excited about the first week of practice. We all hoped our hard work and dedication would eventually pay off.

Our senior season ended off strong. We went 7-, crowned 00 Suburban Prairie Conference Champions and received the third seed in Illinois High School Class 8A playoffs. Everything was coming together for us. We felt invincible, on top of the world, like nothing can hold us down, but something did.

There was talk of a teacher strike the week before the Illinois football playoffs began. The football team and most of the students at Plainfield Central High School was optimistic about the whole thing. Coming from a town in which football was treated as a way of life, we figured the teachers would not use us as somewhat of a pawn. We were wrong. On Saturday afternoon, the week before our first round playoff game, my phone rang; it was my head coach telling me that the school was on a strike. I was at first shocked and then worried when he went on to say that do to the rules in the Illinois High School Association (IHSA), which dealt particularly with Illinois high school athletics, that we were not to have any contact with any coach or practice in any of the schools facilities until the teacher strike was settled. I asked him how were we suppose to practice and get ready for the game? He told me to get the team together in a neutral place where there wouldn't be many people or media, so I did. I called the other four captains and explained what has happened and how we we're going to act upon it. I then set up some what of a phone tree so the whole team would know what was going on.

We met on the pop-warner field, where most of us played together as kids. It was located in a somewhat secluded spot, far from the high school. It was there we self practiced ourselves there, everyday hoping that the teachers strike would settle in enough time to play on Friday night. Although, we didn't know much about our opponent, our coaches did the best that they could by feeding us as much information about our opponent as possible with out getting caught. That week of practice was ludicrous, as soon as the media found out where we were practicing, there were television vans and media personal stopping by periodically through out the practice. They asked questions, took pictures, and got camera footage. We were on the five o'clock, nine o'clock and ten o'clock new on three different channels. That week it was difficult to concentrate the other seniors and I pondered if we would ever play another high school football game again. Wednesday, two days before our possible playoff game and the last time the teachers and school board would meet to settle the disagreement for the week. The team and parents circled out side the school administration office. Handmade posters in hand, in 0 degree weather demanding that the disagreement should be settled that night and to let us play our game we so heavenly deserved, and they listened. The settlement started around 5 o'clock Wednesday night and ended early into Thursday morning. The result was we had our chance to play. Class resumed Friday morning and our game was pushed to Saturday afternoon, leaving just one practice day at our field with our coaches.

As I walked into the locker room on a cold November morning all I heard was silence, a thing that wasn't very friendly with our locker room. I placed my bag on the bench and slowly did everything I usually did on game day. I took a glance next to me, in the direction of another captain on our team. I asked him if he was ready for this; he nodded his head and asked the same question to me, I nodded as well. I think at that point we knew what the outcome of the game would be; there was nothing we could really do about it. At half time we were down 14-0, and at the end of the game we lost 6-0, the worst playoff loss in Plainfield's history. As we shook hands with the opposing team with tears dwindling down our faces we slowly made it to the end zone where our coach always said a few thing about the game. He went on to say that we were one of the best group of kids he ever had the chance to coach and we would be missed dearly as a tear rolled down a usual unemotional mans face. We then all walked around, said a little to each other, and hugged every teammate as if we would never see each other again. As time progressed the stadium cleared and it was only the team and our head coach left, still chatting and reminiscing among each other. A member of our team picked up a ball and ran, others followed and in an empty stadium all the seniors played a small pick-up game.

I remember still standing there watching them, with my helmet in my hand and a mixture of sweat and tears running down my face. I thought to myself how much I was going to miss my teammates, my friends. How much those 1 guys meant to me and how they formed me into the person I was standing there right then. At that moment my coach laid his hand amongst my shoulder, he told me; "you're never going to have a bond like this again, not in college football, not ever, it will never be the same". I looked back at him and nodded my head.

It's not until now when I reflect that I understand what my coach meant. It wasn't that week that was the most memorable, the newspaper writers, the news cameras, my last high school game or even my whole senior season. It was the time I spent with my friends on the team, from the off season, to team dinners, to practicing with each other every summer to fall since we were little, dreaming that one day we would be in the spot light. I believe that there will never be a more memorable moment in my life then playing football with those teammates and life long friends.

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