Goalkeeping
Sitting in the athletic leader’s meeting and listening to Mr. Criens detail the highs and lows of high school athletics, my mind began to drift. It was only 7:52 in the morning, and I had gotten nothing even close to a full night of sleep. Not only was it impossible to find a comfortable sleeping position with the cheetah print of black and blue bruises across my body, but I even had to wash the blood out of my white sheets that had bled out of any one of my various lacerations. That was until I heard something extremely unusual. “In that way, only the goalkeepers matter.”
While I certainly appreciate the recognition, I think the last thing any keeper wants their teammates to be told is that they are solely responsible for the team’s success and failures. While one might think that an underappreciated player like a goalkeeper would be endeared by such a public recognition, I certainly wasn’t. But that’s because goalkeeping is unlike any other position or profession.
When we score a goal, everyone from the forwards back to the center back runs up to the opposing team’s goal to celebrate. Not the keeper. Meanwhile, the keeper could make the most gravity-defying, awe-inspiring save to secure the championship, and all they would get once they got up with the ball is 10 teammates yelling at him to pass them the ball faster so they can go back to scoring goals.
Most assume that being the only individual player in the world’s favorite team sport is a lonely position. And while that may be true, that’s also why keepers love it. Accepting the challenge and carrying the burden, all while smiling and enjoying every second of the experience. But how could we find delight in such a thankless and stressful job?
I’ve often described the feeling of goalkeeping as that of standing on the moon. Alone. Isolated. Completely disconnected from everyone and everything you know, but feeling that the entire earth is glaring at you, picking apart your every move and decision. As you stand there and look back on the earth, you have the perfect perspective to see everything. If all goes well and you do your job, you will complete your mission and no one will remember your name. If you fail, you risk death and your lasting memory on Earth as just another astronaut who let their team down.
Standing between the posts, I can see everything happening on the field. In moments of inaction, I stand 50 yards away from teammates, coaches, and parents. I feel the gaze of curious spectators as they decide whether I’m capable of being solely responsible for our success or failure. Even if I play well, whoever scored our goals will go home heroes. Distance from the field makes for invisibility. While this might seem like the opposite of delight, it differs in origin.
Instead of sourcing delight from the recognition of others, my delight comes from within. Delight is knowing that I did everything I could. Delight is knowing I helped my teammates succeed. Delight is knowing that I gave everything I had and left it all out on the field.
German goalkeeping legend Oliver Kahn, affectionately known as “the Titan”, once said “Goalkeepers need an element of insanity. Who else would want to stand there and allow people to shoot balls at their face or abdomen, and still think it's great?”
Goalkeepers don’t choose their vocation for the same reasons as other players do. Unlike strikers, weeepers don’t seek attention or fame. We don’t seek camaraderie with our teammates. And we certainly don’t seek easy tasks. Instead, we delightfully accept the game's hardest challenges in the spirit of team effort and dedication to the game.