Lucky for me, he doesn’t mention me by name or that I’m a professional athlete.In his routines, I’m just the stupid little brother.I know my role in the family.Stereotypes exist for a reason, and I certainly fit the pretty boy, dumb jock one.
In high school, I was constantly in danger of being suspended from play because my grades were too low.I learned pretty early on that eventually my grade would get bumped up high enough for me to stay active.See?Maybe I wasn’t such a dunce.It wasn’t like I tried to fail my classes.I studied, or at least made valid attempts to.But following two years behind Nicky, who was valedictorian and going to Harvard, the mass assumption made by almost every teacher was that I was more than capable, but lazy.
It didn’t take long before I realized that soccer was going to be my only way out.I’d never make the grades.I certainly wasn’t going to make it with charm or charisma either.I worked to be the best player I could, did enough to get by in school, and miraculously got recruited to play at Maryland.
I was a second-round draft pick with the Buzzards, to the delight of my mom and dad, who have yet to miss a home game, no matter which level of the organization I was playing for.I swear, when my mom watches me play, she still sees the seven-year-old version of me out there, complete with a bowl cut and missing front teeth.It’s nice having someone in my corner, rooting for me.
Brandon turns to walk away.I don’t know what it is or why, but I want to continue talking about this project and the organization.
"Can you send me information about this event and the charity?I can share it on my socials."
As he pivots to face me, I expect Brandon to make fun of me for this, as members of my team often do.Instead, he nods."Sure.That’s why I asked you.You have the biggest reach."He starts to walk away but then says over his shoulder, "Well, that and because I ran into you outside Leora’s office when she said she needed a name fast."
I let out a terse chuckle, trying to mask my offense."So basically, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Brandon shrugs and walks away.
A moment later, my phone starts buzzing with alerts.Text messages from Brandon, all containing the promotional materials and information that I’d requested.I can probably do something with this.Leora Deventhorpe in the front office is in charge of our publicity, and she’s used my official team roster photo on the graphic.
It’s not my favorite picture.To be fair, we all have a mug-shot-esque quality in our team pictures.It’s especially bad when they remove the background and we’re just floating heads.You’d think a professional soccer team could do better.
Once I get home and through the shower, it’s the same routine as every night.Prep a meal kit while pretending that I can cook, post some videos that have no point, no message, and no meaning.I’m running out of content ideas.I edit some videos of me working out and throw those up there.Then, it’s time to doomscroll until I fall asleep.
It is fascinating, the things people post about their personal lives.It’s so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, watching other people struggle.I also get sucked into animal videos, cake-decorating videos—I find those especially soothing—and videos about homeowners undergoing difficulties with their homes.I particularly enjoy the ones about beehives that require removal and septic tank failures.I know it’s gross, but it’s like watching a train wreck.I can’t stop.
My personal favorite, though, is watching people do magic tricks.Probably because when we were little kids, Nicky had a magic set.He wouldn’t ever let me play with it.I was always the audience, and I could never figure out how he was doing those tricks.Before I discovered soccer, I wanted to be a magician.Granted, I was five.When Nicky outgrew the set, I inherited it.No matter how many times I read the book, my tricks never worked.I could never figure out how to do magic.The whole thing remains a mystery to me.
Morning brings another identical day.Practice, training, workout, back home.Lather, rinse, repeat.
My job is enviable and something only a few ever achieve.No matter how cool it is, I feel the clock ticking.Any minute now, the guillotine could lower and—SNAP—my career is done.
And then what?
Out of sheer boredom, I make a video post about the Soccer for Sibs event.
I don’t talk about my family here much, but let me introduce you to my two best friends and worst enemies.My brothers, Joey and Nicky.
I cut to a picture of the three of us as grubby little boys who had just experienced the bliss of playing in the dirt pile in the backyard when my parents were putting an addition onto the house.
I’m lucky that these two knuckleheads have been there every step of the way with me during my life.But some kids aren’t so lucky.Some kids have to watch their siblings get sick and go to the hospital.Some kids, instead of supporting their brothers and sisters at soccer games and spelling bees, are supporting them through chemo and rehab.The Boston Buzzards, in conjunction with JustSibs, want to celebrate those kids.The ones often left on the sidelines when the focus needs to be on their brothers and sisters.Come and learn how to play soccer with me and a few of my Buzzards teammates, then stay for the game as we look to crush the Wave on September first.You’ve been the best cheerleader, and now it’s time for you to be a starting player!Link is in my bio for details!Let’s keep kicking!
I sit on my black leather sofa and stare at my phone.I’ve uploaded hundreds—maybe even thousands—of posts.This one feels different.Good different.I almost want to smile.Maybe because it’s not all about me?There’s a purpose to it, substance behind it.It’s not simply showing off my body or my athletic prowess.
I spend over an hour exploring every link on the JustSibs website, reading the stories, and seeing what the CopingSpace organization does.
I guess I never thought about the fact that kids get sick.We were all healthy and happy.We were lucky, it would seem.I, until this moment, did not realize how growing up like that would impact the healthy siblings.My chest feels tight, thinking about what it would have been like if Joey or Nicky had been sick.
Sometimes I want to kill them, but that’s totally different than them having some fatal disease with no known cure.
I shoot a text to Brandon.
Me: Thanks for including me in the event.Seems like a really good cause.I just posted on ClikClak about it, so hopefully we get some interest.
It’s a few minutes before I get a response.
Brandon: Are you drunk or high?Should we get you drug tested tomorrow?
What is he talking about?
