Gracie (16 page)

I was the only player from JV who was on the bench, although I had spotted almost all the other JV players in the bleachers, also wearing the armbands. Some waved and gave me a thumbs-up sign.

My family climbed into the stands, Dad carrying Granddad up. Jena was with them and she waved to me. I waved back.

The crowd quieted as the Kingston Gladiators jogged double-file out onto the field. They wore their sweats with the hood up, hiding their faces. Their sweatshirts had STATE CHAMPS emblazoned across the front, just in case we might have forgotten the fact, as if that were possible. They chanted a warlike grunting song meant to intimidate the Cougars and their fans. To be perfectly honest, they
were
big, tough, and scary-looking.

As soon as the whistle blew, the game went into full swing. I'd never seen players hit each other so hard or run so fast. Ben from the Cougars got slammed almost instantly by a Kingston player. When another Kingston player shot, Craig made an amazing save. He passed to Curt, who set up the ball for Kyle, allowing him to race in to score for Columbia.

The Columbia fans cheered wildly.

Kingston's huge secret weapon, The Giant, made the next goal, sending the ball sailing past Ben, Joe, Craig, Curt, and Kyle. The five of them looked stunned, like they'd never seen a ball traveling at that speed. The Giant was even more powerful than he had been the year before. He was not going to be easy to get around.

Late in the second half, the score was 3–3, with less than five minutes remaining on the clock.

Just at that moment, a Kingston player plowed into Ben feet first, gouging his leg with his cleats. Coach Colasanti put Peter in as Ben came limping off the field. I smiled at Peter, happy for him that he would get to play.

The game was going down to the wire. Whoever scored next would probably win.

And then one of the Kingston players made a really obvious foul on Kyle. He elbowed him in the stomach as he ran by, and Kyle went down.

The crowd jumped to its feet even before the ref blew his whistle a second later.

The coach called Peter over and quickly said something to him. In a few seconds Peter ran right over to Kyle, who was struggling to get back up. Whatever it was Peter said to him, Kyle was clearly not happy about it. He seemed to be arguing with Peter.

Peter kept his hand on Kyle's shoulder. To someone who didn't know the two of them, it might have looked as though Peter was checking to see if Kyle was all right. But I
did
know them, and I felt fairly certain that the coach had told Peter to make sure Kyle didn't get back up. In fact, I was positive that was what was going on when, in the next moment, Coach Colasanti called for an injury substitution. The coach was strategizing something, though I wasn't sure what he had in mind.

I glanced down the bench, wondering who he'd call. All the second-stringers were leaning forward eagerly.

Peter tried to help Kyle off the field, but Kyle brushed him off as he approached the coach. “Mr. C., I'm fine,” he insisted. “I can stay in.”

“I'm making a change,” the coach told him brusquely. He turned to the bench, ignoring the red-faced, furious Kyle. “Bowen,” he called.

I heard him say my name, but it was as though he had spoken it in a language I didn't understand. My mind
couldn't make sense of why he was saying my name. I just sat there.

“Bowen!” he shouted, this time impatiently.

That's when I snapped to attention, still not certain what was happening. I approached Coach Colasanti as he strode over to me. “Get in there,” he ordered. “I want you to take the free kick. Can you do it?”

The answer was yes, of course. I had to say “yes” and I had to believe that was the true answer.

With a nod, he indicated that I should get out onto the field. “Whatever you do, hit the target!” he shouted from behind me, and then instructed Joe to drop back to the middle.

As I continued making my way onto the field, a mix of boos and cheers came from the stands. The sound of my family cheering themselves hoarse came through loud and clear. I also thought I heard Jena let out a high-pitched cheer.

“What are you doing?” Curt snarled when I reached the other players.

“Taking the shot,” I informed him in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You've got to be kidding me!” he cried angrily. “Oh man, this had better be good.”

Peter smiled at me. “You can do it, Gracie.”

“Don't blow it,” Craig growled.

I took two steps back and eyed the goal. I steadied myself and tried to relax. Then I sprang forward, charging the ball, and kicked.

The ball was in the air.

There was nothing left to do but watch it sail forward.

The Kingston goalie dived for it. He stretched up, but the ball was too high for him to reach.

It was headed right for the net…and then…it bounced off the post!

I had missed!

Inside I just caved with shame and disappointment. All around, my teammates kicked the ground or spit angrily.

I heard Coach Colasanti's voice, and I was sure he would call me out of the game. “Move! Move! Move!” he shouted to me.

“Move where?” I shouted back.

“Follow the ball!” he cried. “You're playing forward.”

I knew I had to play as if it was the only chance I would ever have to play Varsity soccer, maybe the last opportunity to ever play soccer again!

Peter and the other players were setting up for a corner kick. Curt ran along beside me. “I'm going near. You swing around the back post,” he instructed on the run.

I nodded.

“You'd better be there,” he added before peeling away.

The Gladiators intercepted the ball before it got to the back post, but in that moment something changed. My teammates started working with me, including me in plays, no longer shoving me around or trying to make me look bad. And that allowed me to forget about myself or what I had to prove. I could just focus on the ball and the plays.

I felt as though I were flying up and down the field. My head was completely there…nowhere else, able to ebb and flow along with my team. Everyone was working together and so we made great shots, perfect passes, and unbelievable saves.

After our goalie, Craig, made one of those amazing saves, he had two choices. He could pass it to one of our fullbacks or to me. I was closer to the goal, the obvious choice.

He hesitated a split second…and then passed the ball to me.

I worked the ball up the wing, my feet flying. The Gladiators were on me immediately.

I needed to pass the ball off a couple of times in order to avoid having it stolen, but I got it back each time and was soon at midfield.

Just when I thought I was clear for a shot, a Kingston Gladiator side-tackled me, slamming me to the ground as the ball rolled out of bounds. A loud moan of sympathy came from the Columbia Cougar fans.

In seconds I was up and poised to take the throw-in, but I didn't get the chance. The Cougars lost the ball, but I thought I saw a chance to get it back. Swooping in front of the Gladiator, I dived in and stole the ball!

The crowd was on its feet. Coach Colasanti and Mr. Clark were both shouting something that I couldn't hear as I raced toward the goal.

Then something happened I never would have believed. The cheerleaders were chanting my name! “Grace! Grace! Grace! Grace!” They were cheering for me!

A Kingston player ran in to tackle me. For the fastest second, the film of Pelé that Dad had played for me flashed into my mind.

I took the hit as he slammed into me, knocking me back. But I forgot the painful shock and concentrated on absorbing his energy, making his weight and speed work against him. Bouncing back from the ground, I saw his moment of hesitation, and in that moment I stole the ball back.

Dimly aware that the crowd was on its feet roaring, I moved the ball down the field. There was nothing around me now, not a sound, not another player, not the coach, not Dad.

There were only Kingston players to be avoided, gotten around, outrun. I moved the ball this way and that…cut, cut, cut.

Curt was ahead of me, open to make the goal. I was about to push the ball to him, but saw Kingston players peeling off in his direction. A Kingston player rushed toward me. I faked as if I were going to go around him. His balance shifted. His legs were wide. I slid the ball between his legs…ran past him. Now it was just the goalie and me.
Be with me, Johnny, be with me
.

I saw the goalie crouch, lean to one side. He gave me some net. Another Kingston defender rushed toward me. I could see his huge legs sliding toward me. Now! I had to do it now! The crowd excitement was deafening. I heard Coach C. yell: “Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!”…and then I struck it perfectly with my instep. The ball sailed toward the goal. It was surreal. I watched the goalie, arms fully
outstretched, dive…the ball near his fingertips…sure that once again, I'd be denied.
Please, just this one time…
and there it was. It was past him crashing into the lower corner of the net. GOAL! Golden Goal! COLUMBIA WINS!

I dropped to my knees.

The Columbia fans erupted with wild screams of joy. They were in a frenzy, jumping, hooting, and hugging each other. They streamed onto the field, embracing the players, lifting them high. They were rushing toward me.

There was only one person I wanted to share this moment with. I looked up to the bleachers. “Dad?” I called. “Daddy?”

Where was he?

And then suddenly he was there beside me. He hugged me tight, lifting me off my feet. “You did it!” he cried. “You did it!”

I nodded, hugging him as tears streamed down my face.
Yes! I did it!

I did it for the team, did it for Dad. I did it for Johnny. Deep down inside, I knew that I had done something special for myself that would change me. This was an amazing moment, a personal victory. I knew that Johnny's memory would be kept alive…forever…in the lives of all those he touched.

As he believed in me, I believe him…
I can do anything!

Gracie
is a work of fiction. The characters and events are made up. But this story has its basis in real-life events that took place in the lives of the Shue family, who lived in Maplewood, New Jersey. One of the chief inspirations for the film was Elisabeth Shue. In
Gracie
, Elisabeth, an Oscarnominated actress with many films to her credit (most recently
Dreamer
with Dakota Fanning), plays Gracie's mother, Lindsay Bowen.

I was in the sixth grade. My eighth-grade brother, Will, had taught me how to play soccer. I wanted to follow his example. Tryouts for a boys' team at Cameron Field in South Orange, New Jersey, were being held on a Saturday morning. My dad and I talked about whether I wanted to try out. I remember how nervous I felt when I decided to do it.

When we arrived, there were about eighteen boys dribbling and passing. Coach Gene Chyzowych had given each boy a ball. I swallowed hard, ran onto the
field, and said hello to the coach. He gave me a ball, too. I felt very exposed and hoped none of the boys could see me shaking. I began to dribble, just as Will and my younger brothers, Andrew and John, and I did at home in our yard.

In less than minute, an older boy from our neighborhood ran at me, kicked my ball away, and taunted: “Girls can't play.” That did it. I burst into tears and ran off the field to the sideline, where my dad was watching.

“What's wrong?” Dad asked.

“A boy took the ball from me. I want to go home.”

My dad took my hand and practically dragged me back onto the field, saying: “We're not going home!” Then he interrupted Coach Chyzowych and told him what had happened.

Mr. “C.,” as he was called, blew his whistle. “Boys,” he said, “come over here, please.”

Now I was a spectacle. All the attention was on me. I didn't know what would happen next. With all the boys gathered around and quiet, he said, in his native Ukrainian accent, some of the most validating words I'd ever heard: “Boys, soccer is a game for boys
and
girls. Lisa Shue has just as much right to a ball as each of you.” He had been holding a ball as he talked, but then he put it on the ground and passed it to me. Thank goodness, a couple of boys came up to me and we began to pass to each other.

That moment in 1975 was a turning point in my life. I often think how similar moments must have been happening all over the country, and how so many other girls,
like me, must have felt anxious but managed to find the courage to prove that they belonged on the field with boys.

Thank you, Mr. C.

With love from your first girl player, Elisabeth Shue.