Throwback to when my teenage crush gave me a cheek kiss… and I didn’t even get to enjoy it.
I was 14, hope?filled, and a keeper, wink wink — in soccer, obviously. It was a “friendly” match with another school, so basically war.
Unfortunately, we sucked. We were losing 2–0, and I wanted to cry.
Then I saw her — their top striker, full stampede energy. Our defenders were done for. She was wide open, and I was mega screwed. I braced myself: wait for the perfect shot, or barrel? She’d already proven she could deliver a killer strike, so I said fuck it and rushed her. Maybe I could scare her into missing… right?
Wrong. We locked eyes, and she smirked — the kind that says you’ve made the wrong choice in life. Instead of blasting it, she chipped the ball over my head like it was Free Willy (1993) and I was the rock wall. Slow?mo. One bounce. I charged like Coyote chasing Road Runner. Second bounce — I wouldn’t make it unless I threw myself, so I did. I could taste the save on my fingertips and then —
A metallic clunk. Cut to black.
I woke up surrounded by teammates. My brain had done a shimmy inside my skull after slamming into the massive regulation goalpost — not the pathetic, cheap school ones. But I’d saved it. At the cost of my single brain cell left.
Everything blurred after that. I must’ve insisted I was fine, because I kept playing. One, three, five, seven strikes — none went in. A switch had flipped, and apparently it was contagious, because my team snapped awake too.
Did we win? No. But we clawed our way into a tie and celebrated like champions. I was crowned star player by both teams; their striker even shook my hand with a respectful nod — no smugass smirk.
As for the kiss? My family later said that during the chaos of the infamous save, my friend kissed my cheek to “give me strength.” Did my brain subconsciously register it and go hero mode? Or was it just luck?
Guess we’ll never know — alas, nor remember.
