A tribute to Joy Kombs

Last night could have, and for a moment, seemed like it would be the last time I laced up (even though my boots don’t lace bare with me). And it was odd.

These are ma-boots.

As I entered the field for my last night at Kusel Stadium, the aura was unnervingly bizarre.  With the somber October sky loomed over at my last time at Kusel, I kept telling myself that it couldn’t be my last time. Even as the 0-0 reading scoreboard slowly counted down into the low twenties, not a bone in my body was willing to believe that this might be it. But the scary fact is that it very well could’ve been.
I think I’m coming to realize that it’s never gonna feel right. Soccer is something I’ve dedicated a great majority of my life to and consequently I think it will be comparative to the loss of a loved one. While I recognize thats a seriously dismal and depressing thought, I don’t think I will ever quite be able to grasp the final moment of my career until it happens. I think I expected some sort of supernatural surge of adrenaline that would help me to lead my team to victory. I’m not saying that I wasn’t content with my performance or that I wish I could’ve played better. But in the moment when I realized it might be my last, it felt, for lack of a better word, eerily normal.

On a more uplifting note, we were able to advance to the third round of the tournament. We play Indian Hill on Monday at Kings Highschool. Everyone go. I even gave you the directions.


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