Purple Pride

A parting note from soccer star Lisa Sari as she graduates in May.

Serenity surrounds me as I sit in the dark. My back is pressed against a wall of railings and I feel the stinging cool of the steel bench beneath me. I breathe in, I breathe out. As I fill my lungs with cold air, I contemplate. The mist is a blanket over the soccer field. There are no lights, no people, no drums. The blanket of mist covering Merlo Field matches my tears of farewell. Farewell to the days of training, games, and glory. The memories are countless but the days are numbered.

As a child I yearned to be a Pilot, I dreamt of Merlo Field, I attended games, I stood in autograph lines, I adorned my walls with purple posters, all part of my purple dream. Years of dreaming turned to reality and now the dream is over, I have to wake up, but I can’t; to wake up means to let go, to move on, and to close a door on something that means so much. It wasn’t just the dream, the atmosphere, the game: it was the family. I cannot say goodbye to people who so deeply changed and affected me. Only they understand what it is to be a University of Portland Pilot. We know the ins and outs of our purple world. We shared the passing of the legend, Clive Charles, we shared the struggle for survival in that first year. We watched with anticipation while the lights were put on at Merlo and anxiously awaited our first night game. We struggled to find a form of leadership within the team that second year; we faced fears, we pushed each other, and we grew together. We came together that spring and focused and then together we punished opponents. We stormed the field and worked together, highlighting each other’s strengths, filling in the weak spots. We learned about ourselves. The conversations and laughter ... oh, the laughter never ceases. And then in my final year on the bluff we were weighted with expectation, the burden to uphold a tradition, the pressure of success; we struggled to find our identity, solidify our team and our drive. We finally found our inner strength as the playoffs awaited us.

The playoffs are another season unto themselves. The difference from the regular season is beyond explanation. Players sacrifice their bodies and energy, and desires and goals reach far beyond the individual. When motives exceed personal goals, team goals, or accolades; when you play for the respect of the program, for school pride, and to make a statement; when soccer becomes beautiful and machine-like; when not only skills are present, but also passion; when fans are rewarded for their commitment by an untouchable and unscathed performance; that is delight. And the ambiance of the playoffs is in everything and everyone. When the air is so crisp, so cold, so tense you could cut it with a razor blade. When exhaust-like breath smothers the images from the stands and the smoke of heat rises from the limbs of competitors. When nothing else matters, when thoughts are consumed with anxiety, desire, heart.

*

As the run of playoff games comes to an end, a bigger journey comes to a close. As the agony of defeat stares you in the face, the reach of emotions is so much further than a single season, a single game, or a single penalty kick that brings the dream to a screeching halt. More than other teams, programs, or schools can imagine is the experience and ride of being a Pilot, of standing for something more, a history of tradition. To know and feel what it means to “give back to the game,” as Clive Charles said, to understand what it means to “earn the right to play,” to stand at attention with utmost and overwhelming respect at merely the mention of the words Clive Charles.

A season faced with an identity crisis finds a way, a channel to success by taking on challenges of being unseeded and disrespected; and as we carried the reputation of the University on our shoulders we found ourselves, our team, and our way.

As playoffs conclude, as I stood looking out on a field adorned with pained hearts, I was, for the first time in my life, speechless. No words for friends. No words for coaches. No words can do justice to a journey so beautiful. No combination of words could be as real and deep as the purple pride pumping through our veins. As I peel my jersey from my stunned body for the very last time I know that I have been incredibly lucky. I learned to be more than an athlete, more than a soccer player. I learned how to use intelligence, not mere athleticism, to elevate the game. I learned to possess the ball, I learned that defense wins championships, and I learned to respect the game. We cannot conform to choppy soccer. The game is beautiful, fluid, composed. To play any other way is to disrespect the game and all of its marvels. So as I physically peel the PORTLAND from my body, it does not leave me. Just as it has never left any alum who has had the honor of wearing the shirt. Though time has stripped the purple from my skin, Portland will forever be branded on my heart.

*

The team, the coaches, and the friends all became part of me. We all became part of a purple haze that embraced us in our first year and sets us free in our final hours. As I sit in the dark with streaming tears, the image of Merlo Field calms me. I have been graced here, blessed to be in this place with these people in this purple dream.

*

A year ago I sat in this very spot, high atop the right side of the bleachers, with Colleen Salisbury as she bid her adieu to Merlo Field. She now joins the great stars who have ridden the purple wave before us, the ones she once marveled at in her childhood; she now becomes a part of Tiffany Millbrett, Shannon MacMillan, and Christine Sinclair.

*

I cannot adequately describe the feeling of being a Pilot, the feeling of bleeding purple. It is the feeling of the first night game, the feeling of passing by the best soccer field in the country and smiling to yourself because you know it’s a part of you, it is the feeling the first ya! after a tough preseason, it is thanking the crowd after a sold-out night game, it is polishing your cleats alongside your teammates, it is the feeling of finishing hills, it is the feeling of playoffs where the heart in every person is so warm it melts the freezing sweat of winter, the feeling where every sense in the human body can feel the tension and passion of your teammates.

*

I jumped into the purple experience with reckless abandon my freshman year, but it was rough, almost too turbulent to see the true beauty of it. Slowly I rode through the sea on my purple wave as it struggled to define itself after the passing of Clive Charles. Then the wave began to crest, and it was at its most beautiful just before it comes crashing down and is gone; I saw and felt the beauty of the program, just before all but memories are gone.

*

Each memory that has shaped and defined me is what keeps me tied to The Bluff. Each one a puzzle piece and a memory which builds a tapestry of our journey. The first steps onto the field in preseason with 25 120-yard efforts: a piece of strength. The one v. one drill when you got megged: a piece of courage to try again. Confrontations with teammates: character. The push from [coach] Garrett Smith to raise the bar: confidence. The encouragement from the team to continue after a mistake: a piece of heart. Each piece becoming part of us.

*

We have helped shape each other. I cannot articulate how truly blessed we are. The people who wear these Portland jerseys are not regular people. I thank God for every day I get to spend with these people, both team and coaching staff. The time, the caring, the lessons reach far beyond the scope of the game of soccer. Thank you, Portland.