Another Brick in the Wall


When I was six, I lived for soccer and I slept with my soccer ball every night. Mike was in high school and lived across the street; there was a goal on his front lawn. I mostly played goalie while he drilled shots until my wrist finally broke. But that didn't stop me. There was a local league and my Dad became coach with my brother on defense. I wore #6 because our favorite player was Franz Beckenbauer Franz and I kicked the ball on the bright green field at Giants Stadium. 


Some days Mike didn’t show, so I went to the school near my house and shot against the beige brick wall. There was 'Craig' and 'Andy' on the wall and I mean Craig and Andy were literally spray painted there.


I created a game and when I kicked the ball and it hit Craig, I’d get a TV dinner and when it hit Andy, I lost one. Every time I got one, I’d take a step back and every time I lost one, a step forward. I was always at that wall and by the time I was twelve or thirteen, I could hit the upper corner from half field. 

I went back to the school recently and a lot had changed in thirty years. The wall was still there but everything around it was different. It almost seemed out of place, but when I looked closely, I could see the faded outline of their names and it even though I had never really liked them, I had an odd craving for TV dinners.