When I played lacrosse in the early 90s, there was a certain mystique to the sport that’s hard to describe but impossible to forget. From beat-up boathouse jackets to frayed shooting strings and muddy cleats, being a lacrosse player felt like belonging to something slightly off, slightly rough, and completely magical. I’m not sure that identity still exists today, but I do know it mattered—and I can’t help but wonder if it’s something worth bringing back for the next generation.
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When I played lacrosse, there was a mystique to it that I don’t really see today.
Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s age. Or maybe it’s something real that slowly faded without us noticing.
I played in the early 90s in Westchester County, and when the season started, it felt different. It felt magical. Winter had just loosened its grip, it was still dark out during practices, and lacrosse players carried themselves in a way that didn’t need explaining.
You just knew.
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