Pregame. Michael walked along the sidelines to join his teammates where they were grouped, getting ready for the third game of their season. He carried his favourite soccer ball, a gift from his parents last Christmas. It was a good ball, better than the ones the league provided. As such, it was usually used as the game ball by most of the referees.

            “Hey team, how’s it going?” He got a chorus of positive responses, Eric, Mitch and Olivia all waving to him. It was always like this, at the beginning of games. As a house league, the games generally weren’t ultra competitive, but Michael was in the game, focused, deadly. Playing central defender, he could see the whole field, yell advice, instruction, see the play developing. He loved the atmosphere, the tense, competitive attitude of most players, despite the house league setting.

            As Michael pulled his socks over his shin pads, he became more and more focused. Tying his cleats, he stood up to get on the field.

            Warm-up. Terry watched Michael’s warm-up shot drift toward his net. Diving, he tipped the ball wide of the post. A nice save, especially for warm-up! He got up, favouring the shoulder he had landed on. It was still sore from when his brother had punched him. Terry still wasn’t sure what he had done to tick him off so bad. Ken was like that, though. One minute he’d be smiling, and the next he’d go crazy, hitting everyone in sight. Those rages were terrifying for the whole family. Many of Terry’s friends had also noticed the strange behaviour, but few ever mentioned it. Luckily, his brother didn’t like soccer, so Terry was able to get away at least for a few hours during the week. He loved soccer. It was a chance to show people how good he was. He wasn’t defined by his odd brother. He was a stellar goalie, making good saves every minute of the game. Here, to his teammates, he was just the goalie.

            Mitch picked up the ball Terry had tipped wide. It was his job to pass all the missed balls back to the rest of the team. He always got this job. He seemed to be a forgotten part of the team. The other players pretended to like him, encouraging him and congratulating him whenever he managed to make an almost-good play. Mitch saw through it though. He knew they wished he didn’t come to the games. All he did was drag them down. Nothing they could say would change his mind about that. He kicked the ball out to the line of players taking warm-up shots. Maybe I shouldn’t have signed up this year.