Big bushes extend their branches towards the sky in front of the parking lot. A dormant volleyball net on the left and a vacant concession stand appears on my right. As I stepped onto the grass, I saw it. A vast sea of green outlined in white stripes of spray-paint. Community Park. The field that changed my life. The first few times that I played there, it was just an ordinary field, just a place that served for recreation teams only. All of the kinder-kickers teams played there on Saturday mornings. The field always had little dirt spots that were not really big enough to make a difference, but those little empty spots made the field even plainer. The penalty spots were always torn up, and only a tiny bit of grass was left by the end of the season. It was definitely not a place for an elite team.
Elite teams practice on turf fields. On fields with goals mounted into the ground like they belonged, not the portable ones that could be moved to fit the annually changing white lines. But as it became more familiar to me, I began to realize just how special Community Park really is. I began practicing there twice a week in addition to one game on Sunday morning at age six. As I grew older, I began to play there more often.
Our team got better; our league got harder, and we needed to practice more often.
On that field, I realized that I had the power as an individual to benefit my team. But it was always a team effort, and everyone else began to notice that too. I became more skilled as a player, but so did everyone else. And it brought us closer to the game, made us want to be at those practices. Not only because they were fun, but because they were challenging and competitive. The practices on that battered field showed eighteen girls that they could improve from being one of the worst teams in New Jersey to becoming well ranked and growing still today.
Every practice was different. We may have done the same exact drills, but it was still different. Every touch, shot, tackle, conversation, and sight was different. The little details like the river on the team side and the woods on the spectator’s side. These details never stayed the same. There was always something new or something gone. Sometimes the younger teams joined us. These little things were all part of what made this field so memorable to me. Every time I went, it felt so familiar, but at the same time, a completely different place. I went with my team, on my own, with my friends, or with my sister. It didn’t matter whom I was with, as long as I played soccer.
There was not a single defining moment when it changed my life, but I could feel the gradual change as it happened, motivating me to practice more, to be my best. After playing at Community Park three or four times a week, it became a place that I went to practice on my own. Now, when I go there it feels strange, yet every time I do go back, it reminds me of the constant running that we did. It brought back each of the memories that I thought I had lost. The memories of the “fun” practices and those of the not-so-fun ones, they all come rushing back. On that field, for the first time, I realized why I had played soccer for so long. All the memories brought back the feeling of pride that I had felt when I wore the bright white and red striped jersey. Everyone knew about us. We were the first Torpedoes team to go any higher than the simple Northern Counties league and push up to the Eastern Development Program, known as EDP, one of the most elite programs out there. We were the ones to beat. We were the champions. From having a losing record as eight-year-olds, we worked ourselves up the ladder to becoming unstoppable. Of course we were not the best, but we were good. We were great. As I walked onto that field, almost two years from my last practice, I could feel a rush of adrenaline in my veins, a rush of raw emotions.
I grew up a Torpedo. It may have been the most ridiculous name in the whole league, but it was the one I wore on my jersey to every single practice and game. And I was proud.
Now the younger teams that we used to train with have just become the second Torpedoes team to join EDP. Now they are the ones to beat. They don’t practice on this field. They practice on the newly remodeled turf fields at Pulis. They are the elite team with the goals mounted down to the ground, and the lines permanently painted. Pulis Field is fit for elites, for kings. Community Park wasn’t fit for a king, but there were eighteen queens bringing life to the dull and worn out grass. It did not have to be built for elites. Our team changed the field so that it fit us: elites, queens, girls, kinder-kickers, and most of all, teammates.