Notes From the Field: You Just Had To Be There

 

Erin Matson is a Tar Heel, world-class athlete, team player and champion. Here, in “Notes From the Field,” she’ll be sharing some of her thoughts in an ongoing series set to cover anything and everything on her mind. You can find the full series so far here, on Chapelboro.

---

 

 

This one might be tricky, people. Today is Wednesday (10/5/2022), and I don’t know where to start. Every time I have tried to explain this magnificent, challenging, unique, metamorphic part of my life to someone who wasn’t a part of it, I somehow can’t fully paint the full picture. Maybe writing will capture it better? We’ll see.

Okay, now it’s Friday (10/7/2022), and I’ve stared at this screen too many times to not have something down by now. There’s also just no way I’ll be able to express how much love and respect I have for the place I’m about to describe and how thankful I am for the people, lessons, and memories it has given me. But, here goes nothing!

Back in my realllyyy young days when my parents and I were just figuring out the world of field hockey, I remember playing at an indoor tournament at this club in PA. (If you’ve never watched indoor hockey, I suggest you Google it!) We were up next, but the game before us hadn’t finished. On one of the benches, there was this tiny woman with layers upon layers of jackets on and these navy, satin-looking pants tucked into her tall, furry Uggs. She was the coach. And I thought she was terrifying. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, reenacting mistakes on the field and what her players should’ve done better, and showed no emotion when the score became ‘some double-digit number’-0. The most interesting part was the players jogging back to the halfway line after scoring, also emotionless, somehow understanding and listening to all of the words coming from the sideline, then putting them into action. I literally remember looking at the logo on her pants, seeing the words ‘WC Eagles’ under the symbol of the eagle, and thinking I’d never see this woman and her interesting team ever again.

I started playing for the WC Eagles Field Hockey Club a couple years later when I was nine years old. And a few years after that, the lady from the sideline started calling herself my “#2 Mom,” and it’ll forever ring true.

She was inspiring. Someone you could go to for anything. Someone who wanted the best for you on the field but, more importantly, off of it. Someone who believed age was just a number. She identified players’ strengths and weaknesses and allowed them to grow at the appropriate pace for them, instead of labeling them by an age bracket. She treated you as if you were her own daughter. Standards were set, and you were expected to respect them. But you wanted to respect them. For her.

I remember the first day I walked into The Training Center − the most brilliant and beautiful layout of indoor courts, the best boards imported from Germany for us, the largest case of medals, trophies, and all sorts of memorabilia that I’d ever seen.

I remember being given my sky blue and yellow uniform that was two-sizes-too-big and had a massive “46” stamped on the front and back. Do you think for one second I thought about the size of that thing or the random number? I hadn’t earned anything yet. I was just a wide-eyed-kid in a candy store who had no idea of the rollercoaster ride her Life was about to get on.

I remember stepping onto the court for my team tryout/first practice surrounded by fourteen-year-olds when I was nine. At WC, your placement was based on your ability. If you were young but had the skill, mental maturity, and game IQ of those older, that’s what was honored. The whistle blew to end my first passing drill and I was gassed. But I wanted more. Fast forward a few months, and those fourteen-year-olds and I had accumulated multiple medals together already. Oh goodness, whoever handed me any medal, shook my hand, and/or pointed me in the direction of a stage that first year, little did you know you were encouraging an obsession.

But my coaches already knew.

Because they were the same.

You will never meet anyone like Jun and Richard Kentwell. The Chinese woman with the heart of a lion, and the British man who has the strangest yet most effective way of saying, “I love you.” Two beautiful minds and a damn inspiring dream. I would not be where I am without them, and I say that with utmost confidence.

Do you think my love and appreciation for the fundamentals just magically appeared one day?

Do you think I respond better to intense, direct communication because we sat around and chatted about rainbows and unicorns every practice?

Does it shock you I have to sometimes remind myself to celebrate goals because we used to beat teams 22-0, and it became a chore to run back to the halfway line? (Sign me up for that chore any day!)

Do you think I’m lying when I tell you I heard Richard’s British voice in my head commanding, “DON’T GET BLOOD ON THE BLOODY TURF” when I lost the tip of my pinky last year?” (I am fully not kidding.) 

The saying, “You just had to be there,” was literally created for WC.

Because of the way we trained, the different level of standards we had, the success we earned, and maybe one, two, or five hundred unique stories only WC peeps truly understand.

I never knew such an incredible and intriguing place existed.

A place that wasn’t for everyone, and we thrived off of that.

A place that wanted only those who were on a different level – or at least who wanted to get there. Who wanted to be not just great but undeniably the best. Who embraced being pushed, were never satisfied, and had so much love for the people around them – regardless of what people on the outside thought.

We wanted other teams to look at the schedule and be scared if they saw their team versus WC Eagles. We also wanted other teams to think they had the chance at beating us. That just made us love the target on our back that much more when we ripped that hope away from them.

Some teams succeeded, sure. No one’s perfect, we all know that. But we learned from those games. We learned to hate that feeling and to do everything it took to avoid it. I honestly think I could count on my two hands how many games we lost over the nine year span I put on that uniform. Because of our training, but also because no one could match our desire to win and be better than everyone else. That mentality was cultivated. It was non-negotiable.

Hmm. Are things starting to make a little bit more sense?

It’s funny. You can also still tell a WC player apart from anyone else. Their attitude is different, and they can mentally handle more than others. Their skill is more fundamentally sound than anyone else. Their game IQ is higher than most, and they see things on the field the average player would miss.

They’re someone you can run into battle with and have full confidence in.

People ‘on the outside’ used to joke that we were robots. Eh … we took it as a compliment. They probably referred to us as that because we made them look silly.

On and off the field, Jun and Richard taught us the meaning of so many things. Things that pertained to our sport, but also to those formative years of our lives and beyond.

Work ethic.

Discipline.

Reputation.

Confidence.

Family.

Performance under pressure.

Dominance.

Champion habits.

Dream-chasing.

Excellence.

At home, I have just a handful of medals from all sorts of tournaments still hanging on a mirror in the corner of my room. They clink when I close my dresser drawers too hard sometimes. The teams I was a part of earned them.

But WC gave me the opportunity to do so. To teach me so many lessons on the field but even more that I have taken with me throughout life.

Last Monday (10/3/2022), I checked my phone to see a text from Jun. There was a picture of my old USA jersey hung toward the entrance of The Training Center.

It brought tears to my eyes because I remember years ago admiring the jerseys hanging on the walls of the building, carrying that new sky blue and yellow uniform in hand in awe of the club that was about to become my second home. One of those jerseys was Jun’s.

But my favorite part of the picture I received was my incredible #2 Mom smiling proudly with the WC Eagle logo fittingly above her heart.

Jun and Richard, thank you for changing my life and the lives of so many of my WC sisters. We love you.

---

Chapelboro.com does not charge subscription fees, and you can directly support our efforts in local journalism here. Want more of what you see on Chapelboro? Let us bring free local news and community information to you by signing up for our biweekly newsletter.