The Weight of the World

 First there was the final exam, then the SAT, then the ACT, then more entrance exams. Sitting in a silent room, I realized that I had nothing left in the bank. The entire generation before me literally robbed me of a financially secured future. I had to work for everything so I could pay the bills. As I sat and watched people going on with their lives living like there was no tomorrow, I laid dormant in a room with only a bag of noodles to eat. I was a soccer standout who could barely meet the grades. I came from a poor middle class family and at the age of twelve I was pinned down while being forced to watch my brother being beaten to death right in front of me. Sitting in my dorm room fighting to get the motivation to study, I noticed people going home for the holidays while I had nothing to go home to. Sore from my last practice, I’d reached a tipping point and the more I studied, the more I realized that it felt like the weight of the world had slowly pushed me off into a universe filled with crazy wonders and ideas. Most people lived a simple life, but here I stood on Christmas Day for an experimental collegiate Africa Vs. America exhibition fundraiser with thousands of people watching me and millions of fans wearing my jersey. We all wore Christmas colors and I had to make the final penalty kick to win the game. Standing there, I don’t know why, but I sat and wondered if there was something divine helping me get through this life or if it were just pure skill because my life and career depended on this goal. Here I stood, an African American with the most important shot of the first soccer game televised in America and parts of Africa on Christmas. This feeling was worse than walking a tightrope with no net. Realizing that I had no home to go to, only a dorm room with noodles, I had no choice but to make this shot, and I did. Feeling the edge of my spike tap the ball just enough to give it a lift above the goalkeeper’s finger tips was enough to finally get me an endorsement. Watching the goalkeeper fall to his knees in the agony of defeat I could feel my team grabbing me to carry me off of the field. I guess that’s how life works, just yesterday I had questions about this life, I had test to pass, and I had hurdles to jump. I’d become numb to the woes of late night test. Reading numerous books and now the whole world watched me create a Christmas miracle for a country that needed a soccer hero for the sport. After I hit the mainstream, the pressure on me would have drove the average person mad. Why would anyone train as hard as me? Why would anyone do this to themselves just to graduate or win a game? Standing at the edge of space holding the entire weight of the world in my right hand on Christmas Day with a soccer ball in my other hand and a bunch of wild soccer fans cheering, literally turned me into a living legend. I guess something does guide us through this life, I guess something does answer our prayers. After shaking the goalkeeper’s hand as a sign of good sportsmanship, I began to understand why some people have to work so hard, why some people literally have to sacrifice everything so that others will feel some form of hope. Some form of motivation. As my story spread, I gave billions of people around the world something to believe in and it all happened on Christmas Day, but that wasn’t the end of my journey, it was just the beginning of a long career. What turned me into a madman was the fact that I had to keep doing it over and over again. My fans started calling me Santa because every game I gave them the gift of soccer.

The End