There Has To Be Redemption In Rejection, Right?

I think I know how American Idol contestants must feel when they find out they've been eliminated. "America has voted...and they have rejected you! YOU! Buh-bye!"

It's gut wrenching. For a few moments you're disoriented and feel like any positive advice is just lip service. "This is the beginning of a great career!" Yeah, right.

That's how I felt anyway when I found out I was cut from an elite soccer team 22 years ago.

The sting is still felt today if you can believe that.

My home city created its first elite soccer team in the mid-80s and I was part of the original group. It was gratifying to go around town and be a member of something special. I was the lone representative from my team to be on 'Les Elites de Laval.' I remember one particular time we were playing an opponent and an Elites player was on their team. The father came to me and shook my hand. I was in the big leagues now. But...where were the skanks?

That year, I could do no wrong it seemed. It was a great season capped by an MVP award at a tournament presented to me by Bruce Wilson who was then captain of Team Canada.

As you can imagine, I was feeling pretty lucky and confident heading into the final try outs for les elites. There was a tournament in France and the team needed to make one more roster move.

Man, did I bleed for that spot. I don't think I ever played as hard as I did that night. Parents were coming up to me and my father telling us how I was easily among the best players in the one-day grueling three hour camp.

They coaching staff was going to call everyone that night with the results.

The anticipation was intense to say the least. My heart and angst did not cease pumping and increasing for a couple of hours.

My parents waited with me late into a school night. It was that big a deal for a 14-year old kid.

Then it came.

I was cut.

Into another dimension I went.

It made no sense. None whatsoever. None.

The assistant coach was apologetic as apparently the staff (except the head coach) was against the decision. There were rumours going around that a parent of an average player had paid the coach to get his son on the team. Another was that one district of the city had to have more representation than another - at the time there were two rival districts. One of them happened to be the one I lived in. No matter what was said or how it was rationalized I was gone from the team.

The team went to France without me. No berets, brie cheese and Parisian style riots for me.

I never did recover from that. One year later I blew out my knee after my coach told me I was on a short list to go try out for Team Canada. Oh and a girl I was absolutely in love with gave me the boot - was that a pun?

Nevertheless, the absurdity of it all was too much for a teenager.

My response was to turn my back on soccer. I was internally confused and somewhat bitter. I never let it control me but the overhang of that night was still present somewhere deep within my heart and subconscious mind.

Lame manager: "Alessandro, get those reports to dingbat pronto!"

Me (pounding fist into desk): "I was a star once!"

I didn't play regularly, I reacted with aloofness whenever I saw a soccer game, I did not seek jobs in the field, I just didn't want to be part of something that I perceived had turned its back on me. Now, I'm an objective guy. As years went on, I realized I did not possess the physical strength to be a pro player. Add that I was in Canada - there was no MLS and the NASL had just shut down - and the odds of my making any league (except the Yellowknife semi-pro league) were remote.

Suffice to say I was young and impetuous. Not old and wise.

In a way, I do regret not remaining in the loop somehow. I think I could have been a great asset to a soccer organization anywhere. If Patches O'Houlihan came back why not me?

In this way, I can relate to an American (or Canadian or European or whatever for that matter) Idol who just found out they were sent home. Sometimes it is justified and sometimes it is not. The best don't always win. The good ones do slip through. I guess some of us were meant to scratch and claw more than others. Who knows?

They say things happen for a reason. I still have no clue what the lesson was for me. I had a passion, I worked hard at it and then it was gone in an instant.

I've been searching for a groove ever since.