The Penalty Shot

Parnell. That’s the name of a guy I played men’s league soccer with in my hometown of Williams Lake, BC. The kind of man that everyone respected, whose words were worth twice as much as anyone else’s. All of us young players looked up to him. 

I’ll never forget a penalty shot he took for me. It was an evening game near the end of the summer. Our team wore bright yellow jerseys against our arch rivals, Dark Green. It was a match between the best two teams in the league, each vying for the top seed in the upcoming playoffs. 

Right from kickoff, it was a chippy affair, with sharp words and hard tackles. The referee was busy calling fouls all over the place. Near the end of the first half, I cut behind a defender and Parnell slotted the ball right at my feet with a clear path to goal. Suddenly, my legs were kicked out from under me and I crashed onto the hard ground. 

The whistle blew immediately. It was a foul in the 18-yard box and the ref pointed to the penalty spot. The other team was up in arms, chirping incessantly. In such a tight game, any goal was bitterly conceded, a potential game winner. Even though the call was fair, the other team was irate. The complaints from Dark Green continued as I placed the ball on the spot. The tension was palpable. 

As everyone cleared out of the box, Parnell approached me and said he’d take the shot. I was a little surprised at first, since Par wasn’t the kind of guy that sought glory for himself, or a goal to pad his stat sheet. Just the opposite. However, he was my captain, so I stepped aside. He had a wicked strike, more than capable of scoring on any goalie in the league.

Parnell walked up to the other team’s keeper and briefly spoke to him. The goalie looked surprised but nodded at what he heard. Back at the penalty spot, Par stood right over top of the ball, no wind-up for the kick. His hands were casually on his hips. What was he doing? 

Everyone crowded around the edge of the box, ready to rush in for a rebound, however unlikely. The whistle blew… but there was no shot. Parnell gently passed the ball along the ground into the keeper’s waiting arms and play resumed as if it were just another save. 

The tension evaporated instantly. I’d never seen a more sportsmanlike play. Par defused all hard feelings while still honoring the ref’s call. Lots of pats on the back. Thereafter, the tense, chippy game didn’t lose its competitiveness, but everyone’s attitude changed. Tackles were still hard, but there was always a hand to lift off the ground. The ref’s job got way easier with less fouls to call. Smiles all around, encouraging words. The soccer match became fun. 

It has been decades since that soccer game. I don’t remember who won but Parnell’s penalty “pass” will forever stay with me. It was a brilliant solution to a tense situation, the perfect example of Par’s sterling character. In giving up a potential goal, he won the hearts of everyone present. He was a great soccer player, but that evening he displayed his greatness as a man.

I haven’t seen Parnell since moving away from home years ago, but I’m sure he’s still the kind of guy who earns respect with his selfless leadership, fierce competitiveness, and kind heart. A man I still aspire to be like, both on and off the field. 

© D. B. Ryen Incorporated, March 2025.

A version of this article appeared in Light Magazine (online), 2025