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It’s strange, sitting here reading John’s writing, his confessions. Knowing what happens in a way, yet curious to meet the man who wore the gloves. The side of John I never knew. Maybe you have to be a bit crazy to be a goalkeeper.
It’s strange drifting back through my own life. Perhaps you’d think retirement would be a lot of reminiscing, but I’ve been focused on the present day things. It’s hard not to. I still write and read and play music, and sit on that porch, meet with old friends, and try to meet new ones. 2026 is certainly not 1987, 1999, 2005, or even when Alice passed in 2014. Like I said, it’s strange how time moves.
I remember my last drink.
I’m not sure why I really count it, probably because it was for Alice.
I started getting sober around 2000, cut back a lot, then finally started going to meetings. I always liked the sense of community. And I felt like I was giving back in a way too, we all helped each other.
But that cold winter evening, when we knew time was short, we’d sat by that old wood stove together, mostly in silence, thinking about the future, or the end. I couldn’t tell which it was. We poured some whiskey over ice and shared a glass.
That was my last drink, but it was one that I’m happy to have swallowed.
John and Alice, both now gone. I’m tempted, yes, it’s power is rising. I’m tempted to pour one for John. Take a little sip of the darkness.
I’ll never forget the one v one matches I’d have with my friends in our old unfinished basement.
It was a spongy purple ball, and I flipped those old couches, turning them into my own goals to protect.
I loved our house on Pierce road.
How many hours did I spend in our yard, learning to dive, learning to fly?
Defending those orange cones out in the front yard, I’d beg dad to get up from the television and mostly he’d always come out smiling.
“You don’t have a chance on this one, get on your toes!”
He taught me positional play, dad admitted that in his playing days he was more of a traditional keeper.
“All that flamboyant flying around is for show, if you have to dive then you’re out of position!”
He bought me books, with diagrams explaining how to cut down the shooting angle, how to prepare for a match, how to always be ready, be in position.
Dad was my first goalkeeping coach.
A lot of those early years were about dad. I loved my dad and I wanted to make him proud, football was our way of bonding, our way of showing love.
It feels like lately, with this darkness inside and all around me. Creeping along the periphery. My mind can’t seem to stay here anymore. It’s as if my mind is so horrified by the truth inside, the truth of my life, and the bombardment of screens, news, shocking things all around the world and right here, I don’t know where else to turn, except back to those fields.
Back to those saves, back to her.
I think I always loved her, even before I understood what that feeling was. Almost more than love, I believe it was fate, and like saving a shot to the top corner, having no business getting there, I denied that fate. That future the universe had conspired for us, I turned it away.
And I wonder now, where I’m headed, where we are all headed. It’s that fear, that darkness, like watching the play unfold, wave after wave of attack, that feeling that the tide is against you, that ball will be past you, your positioning, your reflexes, your timing, won’t matter, the ball is destined for the net.
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