Mary Nielsen Recaps Weekend with Literary Review

The Duke field hockey team went 1-1 this past weekend, falling to No. 8 Wake Forest on sudden-victory penatly strokes before rebounding with a 2-1 overtime victory against No. 13 Drexel. Sophomore Mary Nielsen provides a literary review of the weekend's events.

Buried in my Latin textbook, my mind wandered whimsically - I contemplated key elements to this past weekend, DUFH's third week in season. The only idea milling about stood adamantly between my pen and the paper, its origins deep in ancient Rome; and so, with conviction, I clung to it, fighting not the air or art of inspiration as I shall share such with you now.

The phrase I had just translated "Pulchras est sevire" - to serve is beautiful. If I could find a word to supplement "each other" in Latin, I would place it into this sentence, but I don't yet know how to delicately weave together ripe observations of human nature like Ovid, so let's just assume it's in there.

As much of a tragedy Saturday's game was, it was a beautiful tragedy. As Jack says, "collegiate athletes of today are the poet warriors of the past;" I dare someone to disagree. Pouring down rain, knees bleeding, wrists practically broken, emotions effusively pulsing through our veins - how could it not be romantic? And with such verve and ardent energy, how could we not get something out of it, in slight, a realization?

A game of attrition, we played on and on at Wake. From Chels' diving goal with twenty seconds left to tie the game up, to a moment of pure agony within the last minute of double overtime, when I was blasphemously crushed upon the turf, by not only a defender's entire body mass but her goalie's, as well. This action was of course by the opposing team, so it felt even worse than you could somewhat relate to. I only took a small amount of the Blue Devils' beatings, however. Young Megan had a near fractured wrist, Miss Stefanie had fallen after the game with calf cramps, and dear Rhian of Philadelphia had more bruises on her legs and gluteus maximus than a red head has freckles. And yet the game went forth, from strokes to sudden death strokes.

Wet with defeat, we were forced to accept the outcome - a loss, our first ever, in strokes. It became a part of who we were, though it did not define who we will become, who we have become. Jarred spoke to us all in our final huddle at Wake, about how well we had worked together: "You win as a team, and you die as a team," he had said.

With a new day was a new life, and we were ready to rise from the ashes, giving the Drexel Dragons more than they could ever hope to face. Our first home game was fueled with a parent/team breakfast at the Devil's Den where in good company we prepared for our last battle of the weekend. One word was on our mind, regardless how and what we would do to get there: win. Despite another overtime encounter we emerged victorious, and rightfully so.

The parents' support could only be rivaled by the columns of the parthenon - with grace, beauty and standing, without question, through all weather. With the parents' presence came that of food, which was provided, and deliciously devoured by hungry members of the DUFH community. With another weekend gone comes another week's preparation. And the words of the wise will not be forgotten - to serve is a beautiful thing, not only serving to each other but for each other. I digress.

- Mary