BY SEAN ELEZOVIC
As a young boy, I encountered many adversely filled moments, but none were as memorable as the glorious lob of victory.
It was a warm spring evening and the parents were color-coded accordingly. The championship soccer matchup between the Sharks and Tigers was imminent. A glorious rematch of the prior year’s cup was long awaited. Many spectators joined the aforementioned parents just for the simple reason of watching a high quality tournament between these young, sixth grade clubs. Yours truly starred as the Striker for the Tiger squad. Ready and willing, the beast from within would surely be channeled to finally bring home the long-desired championship trophy.
The ninety minute matchup was at eighty-eight minutes. The score was tied at one. A ball is popped up into the air in front of the Shark’s goal and yours truly leaps wildly into the air for a game-winning header, but to no avail. A Shark’s defender collides with the hopeful Tiger’s Striker and the blow cripples our beloved hero. The moment stood still as he fell to the ground knee first and face last. He knew, as the referee blew the whistle, that it would be his final moment in this glorious game. He attempted to stand up, but could not put pressure on the injured patella. His teammates assisted his departure to the sidelines because of this overwhelming anomaly that would keep him grounded for God only knew how long. The coach, with fear now in his heart of another loss in the “Big Game,” came over to wish his best for recovery and to have a second opinion on the leg. He knew there wasn’t a chance of revival or return to these waning moments. It was all but over. The young hero’s father approached and threw his disappointments and flustered, fatherly epithets at the young boy. The big shoes the young man had to fill seemed incommensurable, even if the father anticipated the genetic inheritance to level out his offspring proportionally or to an improved extent. The oppressive instrumentalization of the father broke the boy’s intrinsic value down to a cellular level. The boy took the overbearing criticisms to heart from the tyrannical tirade of the patriarchal manifestation that gave him breath, life, and the inherited genes expected to fulfill the task at hand. These social standards are but mere metaphors many children have to endure throughout childhood. Such was eloquently put by the combination of two writers in the work, "Metaphors we Live By." George Lakoff and Mark Johnson state in this excerpt, "The concepts that govern our thought are not just matters of intellect. They also govern our everyday functioning, down to the most mundane details." This would include the constant struggle to please one's guardian or birth-giver on a daily basis, not realizing in adolescence, that someday down the line, an epiphany will be had and the realization will hit you like a bullet with butterfly wings, "I am not perfect!" Although not yet reaching that age of understanding, our hero watches as his father walks away in rage. The boy reached deep down inside of himself and awakened the spirit of the eagle to help him fly and to help him win! He approached the coach, attempting a normal stride and hiding the grimace and pain, and asked him to be injected back into the lineup. The coach, with a hopeful expression, yet astonished greeting, gladly plugged the young man back into what would be a life-defining moment for all involved. The underdog strutted onto the field hoping to disprove all naysayers, blood-related or not, and finish a year-long itch that he desperately needed to scratch. Not even thirty seconds from the stopped substitution, the soccer ball came his way. He could no longer hide his discomfort so he managed one final, sacrificial, lobbed ball over the six-foot sixth graders. The climactic pass seemed to be displayed in slow-motion as yours truly looked on in real time. The crowd was caught in a compromising cheer. The coaches’ jaws were in full swing as they screamed orders like the generals they were meant to be. The defensive line, feared by all sixth graders for their gruesome size, jumped as high as the eye could see. The fastest player from our hero’s team was in full stride to intercept the pass and march it in for the score. Where was the ball? What was about to occur? The ball, seemingly defied all impossible odds, and perfectly landed at the feet of the fastest Tiger’s player. Fifteen seconds later, the Tigers’ pedestal was reached. The Telos was acquired. An equilibrium, between these two great clubs, was finally met with a resounding victory. It was over. Our hero was hoisted up by his peers like a king. The parents flew onto the field like rockets from a launch pad. The opposition stood in astonishment-mixed adoration and began clapping in unison. The moment that paved our hero’s MVP-like performance into the record books was one that would forever live in history.
It is not what we do as everyday individuals that define us, but rather single moments in history where the needs of the few are outweighed by the needs of the many. A Utilitarianism was abided by the hero of this story and because of his sacrificial lob pass to his teammate, the sprained knee turned into a surgery, which turned into a patella-holding piece of metal that the, now adult man, has to live with everyday. The reductionism of this summarization shows us that even though there was egocentrism flowing through this boy’s body prior to that championship game, it was forever erased when the subconscious utilitarianism inside escaped in those fleeing moments, at the end of that game, on that warm spring evening where the parents were color-coded appropriately.
