I remember being 8 years old and crying on my way to soccer registration. My Mom and Dad thought it'd be a good first sport for me to get involved in. I'm not sure why, because he was too young to play, but I remember my brother (18 months younger) crying too. So I cried all the way to registration and was put on a team named The Rangers, coached by Mr. Sullivan; an older man whose main job was to line us up, take a big stick, and knock us in the groin to make sure that we had our "cups" on.
About 3/4 of the way through the very first game I somehow ended up on a breakaway, scored the game-winning goal in the 1-0 game, had Mr. Sullivan put me on his shoulders in victory, and I was hooked for good. I soon became that kid that none of the other parents like; scoring multiple goals a game while people yelled at the coach to take me out of the game or make me stop. I just loved it. I wasn't cocky or arrogant but luckily grew up in a competitive neighborhood with kids who all were into sports and who pushed me and my brother to be as good as we could be.
So soccer quickly became my sport. I played and practiced as often as I could; running drills and imagining I was one of the New York Cosmos; the team I grew up following and idolizing from the old NASL. As a 9-year old, thanks to my Mom becoming good friends with someone in her tennis league who had a wealthy husband, we were given tickets in a luxury box (on my brother's birthday no less) to see Pele's last game as Santos came to town to play the Cosmos. Pele played the first half with the Cosmos (I actually got to see my childhood hero score a goal) and the second half with Santos. A day I'll never forget.
From that early age I continued to follow the Cosmos as they brought in international superstars like Carlos Alberto, Franz Beckenbauer, Vladislav Bogicevic, and Giorgio Chinaglia. My dream in life at that time was to one day play for the Cosmos and have a license plate that read "COSMO12"; the number I wore for my travel team. I never doubted that it would happen: I was too young to think that dreams wouldn't come true.
Then of course the NASL folded. My main outlet became the New York Arrows of the MISL, with stars like Shep Messing, Steve Zungul, and Branko Segota. I remember Friday nights in middle school when my friends were trying to call me from the movie theatre or wherever they were and I was holed up in my room watching the Arrows play inside a makeshift hockey rink; loving the fact that there was no out of bounds and the ball could be played off the boards. The smaller space required more skill and better ball control and I appreciated that.
I continued to play in high school, transferring from one high school to another between sophomore and junior years where I had to sit out the first 30 days of the season. It was brutal but the waiting period was worth it. I was dedicated, even during the 30 day waiting period, and resisted the urge to party and drink "during the season" even though I would find myself at parties where my teammates decided to have a good time and get wasted. It was the summer between junior and senior seasons when an amazing stroke of fortune would happen.
Our soccer coach, a young guy just out of college who had played for our school as a student, left for a reason that I can't remember, and was replaced by a man named Rich Hunter. None of us knew it at the time, but Mr. Hunter had most recently been the Head Coach at the University of Notre Dame; one of the most successful college soccer teams in the country; and here he was coming to our little town to coach the soccer team of St. Rose High School in Belmar, New Jersey.
I was one of the captains and Mr. Hunter had us believing from our summer training at the Silton Soccer Complex that we were capable of good things. The season started out okay and we gelled as the season wore on. At the County Championships there were 16 teams selected and we just made it. Seeded 16th, we started off by beating the number 1 seed, Jackson Township, on the way to performing well in the tournament and finding evidence that we could indeed do some pretty damn good things together.
The State Tournament started soon thereafter, and began with Regionals. Straight off the confidence gained from the County Championships, we put together a string of good games and had fully solidified ourselves as a squad with quality up and down the pitch who were peaking at exactly the right time. It was during the Regional SemiFinals against St. Joseph's of Metuchen when, in the middle of battling one of their players for a 50-50 ball, two of us leaned down to head a ball at chest level, his head below mine. He jerked his head up quickly and sharply, striking me squarely on the chin. The jolt was a shock, but was followed by nothing more than a dull throbbing sensation. It wasn't until halftime while walking off the pitch that a teammate told me I was bleeding. I put my hand to my chin, looked down at a hand full of blood, and went to talk to the coach. We were able to contain the bleeding, I finished the game, and my Mom forced me to go to the hospital.
The doctor gave me two options. I could either have him stitch it up, or he could put a butterfly stitch on it and there was a chance it would heal without scarring too badly. Either way, playing in the Regional Finals was an iffy prospect as he was concerned that due to the location of the cut that it could be reopened very easily; stitched or not. Despite my Mom's protective worry and obvious concern, it was a no brainer; there was nothing that was going to stop me from playing the next game.
We won the Regional Finals, the big Band-Aid on my chin looked very funny, and it was time to start thinking about the State Championship game; just a week away at Trenton State College. It would be our one and only game of the season on artificial turf; a prospect we didn't really know much about. It would prove telling.
13 busloads full of students followed us along the 30-mile route to Trenton State College that night. The stands were full and the scene was electric. My job was to man-mark our opponent's biggest threat, Chris Unger. Chris was skillful, one of the best forwards we'd played against all season; and FAST. Having reached our peak at the right time, and having the artificial turf work perfectly with our controlled, ball-on-the-ground, possession style of play, we ran riot that night, winning the State Championship 5-0. It remains one of the best nights of my life.
I continued to play through college, earning All-Region Honorable Mention as a Freshman, but the highlight of my playing days was that night in November 1985 when the best team I've ever been a part of went out and decidedly made the most important night of our lives up until that point our own. We were a team in every sense of the word; strong at all positions with no weakness; and our strengths complemented one another. Looking back on it now, Bergen Catholic never had a chance.
The scar on my chin is still there and remains a source of pride. To this day, every glance in the mirror reminds me of that season where the combination of an inspiring coach and a squad of quality players who first and foremost understood the importance of playing for one another created some well-earned and very awesome memories.
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