Can’t Control The Narrative Here? One Can Still Commit To The Truth

A personal anecdote that still teaches me things

Image by schrupp

I was 15 when I first banged my head against the narrative. I played football in the same club I had played all my life, ever since primary school. After a couple of excellent seasons, many of my friends had left. The coach had changed too.

The new manager and I clashed from the start, but I was determined to continue playing. I scored goals for him, and he put up with my adolescent impertinence. Until he didn’t anymore. I wasn’t happy with my teammates, and he asked me why. I believed his concern was genuine, and I confided in him. I thought that perhaps this was how we would make things right: working together despite our differences to make the team better. How naive!

Well, he broke my trust. He used everything I told him about the team, whose trust I had broken myself, to build a case and kick me out. Without warning, they called me to the director’s office, where they read my “charges”. I remember smiling in astonishment and disbelief, which prompted the director to ask me if I thought anything was funny. My goodness, I was angry!

I was sent home with my temporary suspension letter to face my mum, who wasn’t surprised or accusing, who instead supported me, but who expected me not to go back to the team ever again. She should have known better, really, since I am pretty sure I’ve inherited my stubbornness from her. I knew I couldn’t fight the entire organisation, but I knew I could be a pain in their butt. After my suspension was over, the coach told me there needn’t be any hard feelings between us, and that his intention to play me in the first eleven for the next match was proof of it.

The reality was the team was broken, a complete shambles, and he played me in a position he hoped I would make a fool of myself. Probably out of that sheer stubbornness, I played rather well considering the circumstances, and then, in front of everyone in the dressing room, I told him I was done, that I was leaving now, on my terms, because I decided to.

It was a little act of petty, young rebelliousness if you will, but it felt good. I couldn’t control the narrative. Whatever he said would be considered to be…