Dear Football

I broke my “no ending long-term relationships over written communication” rule. Here’s my break-up letter to my first love, football.

A reflection, one year on:

This letter is from a year ago—aside from the grammar mistakes I just fixed, I wouldn’t change anything about what I wrote. I still miss football and am just as grateful for everything the sport gave me.

Dear Football

Jan 28, 2022

CW: Briefly mentions disordered/unhealthy relationship with exercise.

Dear Football, 

We’ve been together for twenty years. I know things have been serious for a while now, but I feel drained and was thinking that maybe we could be more casual. I promise that I still want you in my life. It’s not you, it’s me; I’m ready to put my boots away for now and explore life without you. We both knew this day would come around eventually, and I can assure you that this is harder for me than it is for you. 

You know, I flirted with other sports before you. I started out as a gymnast, but I quit because I hated falling off the balance beam. I did swimming lessons, but that’s only because we went to the beach a lot and my parents wanted me to be safe in the ocean. In our early days, I was also playing hockey, touch rugby, and tennis pretty seriously. I was actually better at hockey but I enjoyed football more, so I picked you. 

I don’t remember life without you. In primary school, we were asked what we wanted to be when we grew up, and I wrote down that I wanted to be a New Zealand football player at a World Cup. I remember losing feeling in my toes while I chased a ball around with other kids like a flock of sheep on frosty Southland mornings, and the blissful burn of a hot shower afterwards. The 6:15 am wake-ups to train before school shaped my sense of discipline to work towards what I want. The twice-weekly five-hour round trip to Dunedin to play in a better league was a lesson on making the best of my situation and a nudge to go the extra mile (or in this case, the extra 132.4 miles, and then back again in the same night). I am reminded of the final stretch of State Highway 1 lit by car headlights whenever I hear “I’m Gonna Be (500 miles)” by The Proclaimers or “My Sharona” by The Knack.

A comment that I was “too slow and heavy” to play at the level that I wanted to probably never again crossed the mind of the coach who said it, but I thought about it every day for years. There’s a chance that I misinterpreted what they meant, but this didn’t occur to me at the time and the words were left to fester in my still-developing teenage brain. I was sixteen and had sacrificed a year away from my family to try to turn the dream that I had solidified in writing when I was ten into reality. The scrap of confidence that I had left after a long and lonely year away from home dissipated, and my reflection looked different. I started exercising more outside of training not to get better at football, but to try and make myself look like what I wished I saw in the mirror.

I learned to love you again when I shifted my focus from reaching the destination to enjoying the ride. My high school team qualified for nationals for the first time ever and I began to thrive on the field again. The out-of-the-blue invitation to age-group World Cup qualifiers, which I received during the aforementioned national tournament, seemed too good to be true. But it was real, and I will always be grateful to the coach who took a chance on me and brought my dream back within reach. I returned to the scene of my failure, and this time I made it. I started a World Cup game and sang the national anthem to a crowd of fans with my hand pressed against the silver fern on my chest. My last name on the back of a New Zealand Football jersey was everything I had ever wanted. 

A few months later, I left for the US and started calling you soccer. Our relationship felt different (the rolling sub rule was new for me), but we were stronger than ever. I learned to embrace my role on the team and work towards shared goals instead of just my own. I spent more time than I wanted to on the bench, and the most important thing I learned was how to be the biggest supporter of the teammates whose spot on the field I desperately wanted. Even though my college career didn’t turn out the way that I had hoped, it forged values that run much deeper than sports and will shape the rest of my life. College soccer was also my road back to being comfortable with myself for the first time since the offhanded comment that caused the implosion of my self-confidence. Towards the end, I started the process of unlearning the toxic ways that I had been taught to think about body size and weight as a young and impressionable female athlete.

The worst pandemic in over a century took away what I thought was the last few pages of our story together, but I got an opportunity to play one last season at the beginning of grad school. I made thirty-six incredible friends in a new city and got to be the senior that I’d envisioned becoming since I was a first-year. If I’m absolutely sure of one thing, it’s that we’re ending this on good terms. 

Football, I can’t thank you enough for everything you have given me. So many of the people who make me the best version of myself are in my life because of you. You gave me teammates that turned into lifelong friends, coaches that saw my potential and challenged me to reach it, and families who always made sure that I had somewhere to stay when I was travelling or couldn’t go home to my own whānau. You have empowered me to go after what I want, and to step away from what I don’t. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the two people who gave up so much to make all of this happen. I can’t thank my parents enough for their unwavering belief in me, for driving thousands of miles so that I would have a better shot at achieving my goals, for supporting me when I moved as far away from them as possible, and for never suggesting that I give up. 

This isn’t a goodbye. It’s more of a see you later. I’m terrified of a future with you on the sidelines, but I’m also excited about what else is out there. I’ll always hold a special place for you in my heart, and all of my old injuries that ache when it’s cold outside mean that I’ll never forget you.

Team on three, love on one, all out, and every phrase in between that I’ve shouted to break a huddle—this adventure was far greater than anything my ten-year-old self could have dreamed of. 

With love, 

Sammy