Even though soccer is played by millions around the globe, people do not talk about its history very often. Because of that, I am going to introduce you to the history of one of the greatest sports in the world. Modern soccer was established in England in 1863, when the British founded the Football Association. However, versions of soccer have been played for more than 2,000 years. The ancient Greeks played a ball game call episkyros, which consisted of kicking and throwing a soccer ball on a drawn field. The Romans played a variation of episkyros, called harpastum. Even though this game had rules, they were not very clear. Kemari was introduced to Japan in the 7th century. All a person had to do was keep a buckskin ball in the air with only their feet. During the French Middle Ages, a game called soule was played. It was a combination of soccer and rugby, and was very a savage sport where almost any hit was allowed. The objective was to put a ball in the opponent’s cage. In the late 1400s, Italy invented calcio fiorentino. It was only played in between Epiphany and Lent, and only by the rich. Even popes played it in Vatican City in the 16th and 17th centuries. The objective of the game was to carry a round ball into the opponent’s net. Most of the matches were stopped because of a burst ball or a serious injury. Similar to calcio fiorentino, soccer was played mostly by the rich in the 19th century, but because of urbanization and industrialization, soccer gained popularity with the workers. One of the reasons that soccer gained popularity was that people had Saturdays off, and they didn’t want to do their traditional hobbies anymore, such as badger-baiting. After gaining popularity in England, immigrants started bringing soccer wherever they moved, for example, the United States and continental Europe. As soccer has changed throughout the years, so has the ball. In the Medieval era, the ball was usually an inflated animal bladder surrounded by leather so it would keep its shape. In 1855, a man named Charles Goodyear designed the first soccer ball; it was made out of vulcanized rubber. Because of this, it was hard and spherical. Then in 1862, H.J. Lindon made one of the first inflated rubber bladders for balls. In 1872, the English Football Association changed the rules and made it so that the ball was spherical and had a circumference of 27-28 inches. In 1937, the weight was changed from 13-15 ounces to 14-16 ounces. In the last 30 years, the major difference that has changed the soccer ball is what it is made out of and the panels that make it up. Nowadays, the soccer ball is made up of synthetic leather and has 20 hexagons and 12 pentagons to make a round shape. Today, however old you are determines the size of the soccer ball you use. There are 4 sizes; 1 (mini), 3, 4, and 5. For example, my team, LSC Villa U12 uses a size 4 ball, but when I started playing soccer, I used a size 3 ball. And next year, I will use a size 5 ball. In addition to the game and the ball changing overtime, so did the rules. There were no strict rules for playing, until in 1848 when a meeting was held in Cambridge. Before that, if a school team played at another school, the rules could be different. It is interesting that even though the meetings decided that soccer should be a sport played with the feet, some schools still had rules were you could run with the ball in your hands. Because of these rules, soccer became a more civilized sport. Some of the rules include that if you caught a ball, you were awarded a free kick, and if the ball went over a sideline, the player that got the ball first threw the throw-in. No referees were used until 1871 because it was a so-called gentleman’s sport. The captains of each team were the closest there was to a referee; since the captains sometimes disagreed, referees were added so the game would be fair. Eventually, goalkeeper started to become a distinct position, and in 1909, a rule was made that the goalkeeper had to wear a different colored shirt. Then in 1912, a rule came out that only the goalkeeper could touch the ball inside their 18-yard box. Over the years, there have been lots of new rules added to the game, including extra time, penalties, and offside. Over time, soccer has changed greatly. A sport that started out with almost no rules is now an Olympic sport. As soccer has evolved, the rules have become stricter and the ball more regulated. It is interesting that soccer has changed as the world has changed. In the beginning, there were only rich people playing it and now a lot of people play soccer.
sports
Flamethrower, a memoir by Jacob, 11
Flamethrower Jacob Chan, 11 I was almost 11 in the warm windy fall of the year 2019, when my baseball team, the Bulldogs, were playing in the little league semi-finals. But still, I couldn’t help but want to crawl under my bed, where I would be safe. I couldn’t even bear to glance at the opposing pitcher’s deep blue eyes. His fastball was so fast that if you rode on it around a highway, you would get fined for speeding. My team crammed in the dugout before the game started, each of us getting to know one another way more than we wanted to. I swear I smelled vomit on the jersey of one of my teammates. “Listen up, Bulldogs!” My coach Adam began to yell. “It’s the semi-finals—if we don’t win this, each of you owe me five laps around the field!” Everyone groaned. Everyone, with the exception of me, and a few other boys. Not that we wanted to run laps, mind you, but because we were staring at the five-foot-seven kid on top of the mound warming up. He was literally throwing fireballs into the catcher’s rusty old, well-patted, brown mitt, with the glove strings tightly knotted. For a second, I didn’t care about the 10 pound gold trophy sitting on the table behind the dugout that would be handed out to the winner. I just cared about not getting plunked in the face by a 70 mph fastball thrown by the 11-year-old Godzilla. Alright, alright, call me a scaredy cat, but let’s face it—you would be freaking out, too. The tap of Bowen Orberlie, one of my teammates, brought me back to reality. “Earth to Jacob!” he said into my ear. I shook, and glanced up at my coach who was throwing darts out of his eyes to every single one of my teammates. Glancing down at a torn up sheet of paper, he began to scream the starting lineup aloud, with little tiny molecules of spit coming out of his wide open mouth as he spoke. “Chan, leading off!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, so loud you would have thought he was my cousin after watching the New York Mets lose. I froze. To be honest, I should have been proud of my nearly .370 on base percentage that got me the role of batting leadoff in the semi-finals, but–I. Did. Not. Want. To. Face. This. Pitcher. The rest of the lineup was a blur. I couldn’t think straight. Trembling, I grabbed my Rawlings blue and silver bat and stepped outside the dugout. I began to take some dry swings, you know, the swings that coaches and parents always say will “help you get better.” I tried to time my swing perfectly so I wouldn’t get embarrassed too much. I looked up at the crowd; they were whooping and whistling. I overheard a dad with a Bulldogs sweatshirt on yelling comments like, “Dang, this kid throws hard!” I rolled my eyes nervously, and glanced up at the pitcher. I swear he smirked at me. I sighed, and tried to not make eye contact. I watched the umpire take off his blue and black mask and bend down to clean the plate off with his dusty old brush. “Play ball!!” he screamed. I jumped. I shook my head. There was no way I was going to hit this pitcher. “Let’s go Bulldogs!!” someone yelled from the crowd as I stepped into the box. I took a deep breath. Slowly, I turned my head that was in two different realities. One side wanted to run away screaming and forget about everything I had ever done to be on this team. The other side wanted to suck it up and try to be the hero. Anyway, I stared at the pitcher with my shaky, dark brown eyes, and he stared at me with his confident light blue ones. And oh my, if eyes could kill, I would be on the ground dead. I swallowed hard. I might’ve swallowed my gum that I was chewing since warmups, and I wouldn’t have realized. Heck, if green aliens with one eyeball took over the earth right then, I wouldn’t have noticed. “Time!” I yelled to the ump, even though it wasn’t even half a second after I stepped in the box. The umpire scrunched up his eyebrows like he was confused. I couldn’t blame him. The pitcher looked somewhat annoyed. I stepped back into the rectangle-shaped batters box after trying to calm myself down and taking some more swings. The pitcher shook off a pitch from the catcher. Again. Again. Again. And again. I’m willing to bet money that he was messing with me. He had a little smile while he shook off the pitches. Finally, he selected a pitch. Fast ball maybe? Curveball? Changeup? Maybe he had a splitter? My head was spinning in all different directions. His face looked furious as he threw it as hard as he could. Life seemed to be moving in slow motion and then fast and furious when the ball came out of the pitcher’s hand. The ball was already in the catcher’s mitt before I even began to swing. The loud thud of the ball landing in the catcher’s mitt made me jump. My eyes went wide. The crowd even sounded shocked. People were even making comparisons to him and Aroldis Chapman. I started to panic even more because if there was one thing I knew about Chapman, it’s that he had no control of the baseball. I might get plunked! I stepped out of the box and took a practice swing. My hand trembled so much that I almost let go of the bat. “Stay in there!” A dad from the stands yelled. I stepped into the box. The crowd was yelling, screaming, chanting, you name it. As the pitcher selected another pitch, I blocked out every sound in the ballpark. The cheers, the insults,
Running or Racing?
Running or racing? It’s such a simple question and most of us would probably choose running. But is that really the case? Do we really run for enjoyment? Or for speed? I once trained the slowest girl in our whole grade to be the fastest on the Cross-Country team. I would say that I have loved running, but what I really loved was my times and medals. It was not until a devastating break from running due to scoliosis (a curvature of the spine) that I’ve come to truly love running. My story begins with the only track I know that is made up of grass instead of rubber, a track that has always held very special memories for me. It’s where got my first sports medal in 6th grade’s Cross-Country meet, my only two gold medals from last year’s track tournament, and also this year, as it was one of my first runs after my scoliosis recovery. As I’d expected, my results weren’t ideal; I couldn’t possibly believe that I got so much slower from 6th grade! But, I guess that’s just the consequence of taking such a long break from running. I’ve always participated in cross-country meets. Starting off as a 9-year-old, I felt proud of just completing the race, even if I finished last. Finishing a race was already a huge accomplishment for a girl who couldn’t even play tag with her friends, as I would always remain the tagger because I ran slower than everyone else. However, after a summer of rough training, and joining the swim team, I got a lot more serious about sports. I began to run frequently. I developed a true, ardent passion for running when I was the first to finish the 800m in Track and Field Day in 5th grade. I no longer felt forced to run but genuinely enjoyed it, feeling all my anxieties vanish and burn off through every step. Running then wasn’t just a sport to me, but the only escape from all the negativity in my life. It became a part of my life that I couldn’t live without. Then, in the fall of 6th grade, I attended WAB’s Tiger Classic Cross-Country meet and felt anxious about running three km without stopping. I definitely didn’t expect to achieve my goal of stepping onto the podium—I got 2nd place, which was completely unexpected, but super exciting for me. On one hand, running was still my haven outside of all of my stresses; but on the other, I became overly competitive with the sport and found it hard to be at ease unless I achieved a fast time or tangible medal to prove my ability. I feel ashamed to think about how many times I’ve cried in the bathroom after not achieving ideal places or times at sports meets. I blamed and hated myself for not achieving what I aspired to, but I should have realized that was just all part of the journey, something every athlete must go through eventually. I remember the moment I finished the race on October 9th I was on the verge of tears. I didn’t even bother asking my time because I was so scared, certain that my performance wouldn’t be ideal—judging from the swarm of familiar faces that ran past me. I can’t believe that I used to be ahead of all of them. Just as I was about to cry into my sleeves, my coaches came up and regarded me kindly, asking how I felt after not running for such a long time. Not about to cry in front of a whole crowd, I held my tears and spilled out to them all my fear of not achieving an ideal time, and how I felt ashamed that I was able to get a medal at this meet when I was only 10, but not when I was 13. “Well… welcome back! We’ve all missed you a lot and it’s wonderful to see you running again! There are still a few practices, and I’m sure that now you’ve recovered you’ll be all fit for track season!” The coaches replied, with a nudge on my shoulder. My friends all came and comforted me, congratulating me for finishing the race after not running for such a long time. I felt so ashamed that I felt the way I had after finishing the race. The positive spirits of my peers really got me, and at that moment I felt much more confident. I used to only value the gold, silver, or bronze medals, ignoring the participation ribbon. But this time, I hurled out my participation medal and wore it like a badge of honor. Because this is sportsmanship. Not everything is about the time, but rather the experiences and lessons you learn from it. After my break from running due to scoliosis, I have learned not to blame myself for every “mishap.” Some things are just out of my control—no one could’ve guessed I would have to take such a long break so suddenly. And not just that, but I’ve learned that mistakes and failures are just fine—they’re an essential part of your growth. Instead of purely focusing on my times, I should take a look at the beautiful scenery, be grateful for such supportive teammates, and be happy just to be a part of this bigger picture. In the end, if I had to choose between running and racing, I would always choose running, so why not just focus on that more? Thinking back on it, I am prouder of myself after that meet than I ever was before. Maybe I didn’t achieve a PB or get a medal, but I finished the race and didn’t blame myself for not achieving my goals. I wore my participation medal proudly and cheered on all the others. The medal from that race will forever remain an epitome of not my best times or places, but of the difficult journey that I’ve made it
