The Wizard of O.G.

By: Sean | February 10th, 2009

If scoring a goal in a soccer match is the epitome of all that is good and right and glorious in the Beautiful Game, the dreaded O.G. has to be considered the anti-goal. I’m at a loss to think of another experience in the game that can turn the momentum, break a player’s confidence, or gut team morale faster than scoring an own goal. It’s so sinister that it gets its own special match summary designation on the scoring sheet so the guilty party can forever be recognized, almost like a scarlet letter. Even in baseball, they don’t personalize who made the error, just that it happened. An O.G. is a painful thing to watch even for a neutral observer, harder yet for a supporter, but the absolute worst for the actual participant. (No offense, Mr. Carragher.) Most football offenses can be defended in some manner. I had to trip the striker in the box because he was clean through and the keeper was out of position. I had to head butt the opposition because he may or may not have insulted my sister. But an own goal? “I had to put the ball in our net–there was no other choice!”

Back in August, The Guardian newspaper published a preseason booklet that previewed the English Premiership season, predicted table results, etc. There were a few other interesting articles, too, but the one that caught my eye was called “What it’s like to…” The writers interviewed current and former players on fourteen moments in the game, such as “What it’s like to play in a cauldron of hate” or “What it’s like to make the best save ever”, etc. The one that caught my eye immediately was “What it’s like to score an own goal.” The answer, courtesy of Dejan Stevanovic, who scored for West Brom while with Portsmouth in 2004: “It may be an accident or may be because of your own stupidity but, whatever the reason, you have to immediately put it in the past and get on with the match. If you don’t then it will ruin your concentration and perhaps make you score another one, which would be a disaster…” But Mr. Stevanovic, you didn’t really answer the question. What is it like to score an own goal?

Sadly, I can tell you.

A year ago my club was struggling out of the gate. Despite our all-around awesomeness, we were not getting the results to start our spring season on a positive note. We were crushed in the opener 4-0, lost on literally the last kick of the match the next week (2-1), and then lost 1-0 to our loathed rivals…who had shown up late and without player cards, causing the match to be reduced to seventy minutes. In that post-match summary for the team web site, I lamented that “…barring a giant meteor striking us all dead next week, I am not sure what new misfortunes the Soccer Gods might have in store for us.” Sean, meet Own Goal. Own Goal, Sean.

Our regular keeper was gone for this match, so filling in was one of our center backs. We’ll call him Dan. Dan is a great goalkeeper, but he likes to play out in the field, so this season he only minded the net when we were missing our starting goalie. I think we only had twelve or thirteen players for this match, so I volunteered to play right back as we had plenty of midfielders and not enough defenders. We went up 2-0 in fine style before the opposition claimed one back off a corner kick prior to halftime. Around the sixtieth minute, the other team made a bold run down the opposite side line. The striker I was marking up on made a run to the post and so, being a dutiful defender, I sprinted back to get between him and the goal, anticipating he would receive the cross. The dribbler elected instead to shoot from the top corner of the box and it was a rocket–hard, straight and heading toward the far post. Dan’s save, however, was also a thing of beauty. He went horizontal a good three feet above the ground, fully stretched and caught it with his right hand. This was a pose worthy of a Wallbanger poster. I remember seeing the ball flash across him and thinking, “Is that going in? It looks good. Nice save, Dan! HOLY SHIT THE BALL IS FLYING TOWARD MY FACE!”

At full sprint with my marker right behind me, there was no time to react as the deflection came off Dan’s glove, smacked me in the jaw, and then bounced into the corner of the net. I swore. Loudly. I don’t think I dropped to the ground, but the collective weight of disappointment and embarrassment was, not surprisingly, pretty heavy. I own goaled in front of my wife and kid! I just tied the match–the wrong way! You know it is tragic when the mark you were just covering pats you on the shoulder and says without the least bit of sarcasm, “Dude, that’s unlucky.” I turned around and started the slow walk of shame back to my position, hands on my hips, breath labored. You know that feeling you get for a split second before a car or bike accident, when you know it’s going to happen and everything is a little bit slow-motion and detached? It was a lot like that, only it lasted for several minutes. My fellow Rangers were piping in, all unfailingly positive to a man. “Nothin’ you could do about it, Sean.” “Forget about it, Sean, it was a fluke.” And my personal favorite, from my grinning enforcer: “Well, there’s your giant meteor.” The only glimmer of an upside for own goals, nary as I can figure, is that they show you who your real friends are.

Oh, and we eventually lost 3-2, so I had that whole baggage to carry around for another week.

How about you, Weekend Warriors? Misery loves company. If you have an own goal you want to get off your chest, it is a bit cathartic…