Four goals.

The Stanton Class of 1993’s twenty-year reunion is in June. A week or so ago, a blurb from the reunion’s internet group put me in a nostalgic mood. I pulled my senior yearbook off the shelf and flipped through the pages until I got to the boys’ varsity soccer team. The schedule was printed in the lower left corner of the page, with the result of each match scrawled in the margin by 1993-Me.

Twenty years ago tonight: the last regular season game of my high school career, at First Coast. That morning I’d decided– not predicted– that I was going to score four goals.

We stopped at a McDonald’s on the way up there. I had twenty McNuggets, a large order of fries, and a large Coke. Was it going to make me sick? Didn’t matter. I was going to score four goals.

We got there, warmed up, lined up, and kicked off. About 90 seconds into the game, I dribbled around the keeper for number one. A few minutes later, I scored number two. I got subbed out about 20 minutes in, and we were up 6-0 at the half.

Second half started. The other team put in their backup goalie. Under a minute in, I dribbled around him for number three. And with about ten minutes left in the game, I shot from long distance, megged the keeper, watched the ball go through the side netting for number four, which made it 8-0. The ref went to talk to the linesman to see if it went in. One of our freshmen started yelling at the ref. I told him to shut up; we were already winning big. The keeper went up to the ref and told him that it was a goal.

And so: four goals, as decided. I was content.

I’ll have to wax nostalgic some more about high school ball sometime soon.