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Houma — When the stadium lights are flipped off, after the handful of cheering parents and students have filed out the parking lot, all that’s left is the stinging, damp wind that’s been uncoiling from the southwest all afternoon. It’s one final jab on a long, lonely walk from the last pitch these teammates will share.

No words, just sniffles and some hugs among a motley bunch of muddy, bruised and limping bodies. The fight is over, and they’ve spent every ounce of energy and emotion. Behind them, the incessant wind sweeps across the cleat-scarred turf.

This final walk is a bitter one for the East Ascension High Lady Spartans soccer team. Their gutsy run through the Division II state championship tournament is over. It’s also the end for a handful of seniors, several of whom have played together for half their young lives.

A decade ago, you would have found girls such as these watching boys soccer, cheerleading or simply doing something else. Now they are just like so many other high school athletes in Louisiana, giving their all to compete for their school, their hometown, their own. And these girls are just as likely as the boys to suffer torn muscles, bloody noses and broken bones.

The Admiral, Alicia Gautreau, rests during a break in the play.

So why do they put themselves through it?

The rain starts falling about an hour into the bus ride from Gonzales to Houma, in the thick of cow pastures and cane fields along La. 304. The shower drowns out some of the road noise but has no measurable effect on the team’s demeanor. Thirty-five giggly girls in makeup and ponytails while away the time chatting, watching DVDs, pressing cell phones to their ears, silently staring out of windows with headphones or even stealing a nap.

They’re smiling, loose and relaxed. If not for their matching sweats, you’d be hard pressed to figure they were headed for any athletic competition at all, much less the biggest game of their high school careers.

“When do you guys start psyching yourselves up?” I ask Maria Baragan, a freshman with big, soulful brown eyes. “Probably not until right before the game,” she answers respectfully.

The seating arrangement is a loosely organized hierarchy of ages: The younger players occupy the front while juniors and seniors sit in the back.

There are some exceptions, such as Kayla Frederick. The senior goalkeeper, described by her coach as the consummate cheerleader, is near the front. Gregarious and loud, Frederick occasionally straps on a pair of headphones and sings at the top of her lungs.

Natalie Gautreau, a senior and co-captain, sits a few seats behind the driver, chatting quietly with teammates. Sophomore Leahana Avara sits in the middle section with a pair of headphones, quietly thumbing through a fashion magazine. Anna Hite, another sophomore, is just across the aisle, sitting with her eyes closed and arms folded. She’s wearing her lucky shoes: black-sequined slippers. Head Coach Chris Goodall describes Hite as one of his toughest players. But she’s so tiny, it’s hard to imagine.

Further back, juniors Katie Moran and Tammy Gros are sharing a single pair of earbuds pumping out rap music. Behind them, the last seats are stuffed with water coolers and game gear. There’s enough room for one passenger back there, Alicia Gautreau.

One of six seniors and another co-captain, she is The Admiral, according to Goodall, the undisputed leader. “Peach,” as she’s been dubbed, exudes confidence while chatting with teammates. A soccer player since age seven, Gautreau admits she still gets nervous, “but I’m ready to play.” College soccer is her next destination. Maybe she’ll play for Nicholls State or Southeastern in Hammond this fall. She wants to stay close to home, close to her friends.

Brooke Lambert, left, Deshauna Ricardo and Amanda Woodara laugh and listen to music on a trip to Houma.

Brynn Lambert, another senior and defensive leader, is a top lieutenant and sits directly in front of Gautreau. Lambert also plans to play collegiate sports, though it’ll probably be softball.

Coach Goodall is in his mid-30s, affable, funny and disarmingly charismatic. He speaks through the refined accent of an Englishman. A native of Portsmouth on the United Kingdom’s southern coast, Goodall arrived in south Louisiana via Nicholls State and a track and field scholarship. He took over the E.A. girls’ soccer program four years ago and has nurtured and cajoled it along ever since.

As we bump and rumble down La. 308 on the east bank of Bayou Lafourche, Coach Goodall (Goody, they call him) tells how special this group is for him. This is his first in which the seniors have spent their entire four years with him. There’s real chemistry, he says. The girls are in sync, emotionally and physically.

“Some of these kids are six months from walking on to a college campus. These are very intelligent young ladies,” Goodall says. “We push them further, and they push themselves. They’re very happy to receive praise, but they’re very demanding of critique.”

Yes, the planets have aligned to some extent, he says, but there’s a real chance this afternoon. The group gelled as a team early in the season in mid-December, he says, when E.A. held a highly favored Sacred Heart team to a 0-0 tie. The girls proved to him and themselves they would not be intimidated.

Goalkeeper Kayla Frederic warms up before the game.

Ascension Parish loves its baseball, and on summer evenings the ping of aluminum bats striking baseballs is as common as the buzz of the cicadas.

Not too long ago middle school coaches begged girls to sign up for soccer. But the world’s favorite game has steadily insinuated its way into the daily routine of this parish. There are soccer mommas and soccer daddies everywhere.

Ascension has even produced a top professional soccer player. Jason Garey made it all the way from St. Amant Gator to University of Maryland star forward where he won soccer’s equivalent of the Heisman Trophy. Most recently, he signed a contract to play professionally for Major League Soccer’s Columbus Crew.

But Garey’s success is meaningless to the Lady Spartans’ opponents in Houma. The visitors stroll into Buddy Marcello Stadium and past the home team already warming up. No words are exchanged, but a few size each other up with glares icy enough for a prizefight.

Warm-ups start without a word from Goodall or his assistants. The girls encircle their captains, Alicia and Natalie Gautreau and Tammy Gros, and start stretching. Then they group themselves according to squads for drills and sprints, still without any direction from the coaches.

The girls are practicing shot-on-goal defense when Anna Hite takes a powerful blast right to the head. The ball smacks off her face with the force that should have left her writhing in pain, but she hardly flinches, wiping a hand across her cheek and setting up for the next shot.

The joking and horseplay are gone. The focus is there now, laser sharp and precise. With only minutes left to game time, Goodall gathers the team one last time before battle. His words are calm, almost soothing. There will be no fiery pep talk because none is needed. Mentally, the team is right where he wants it, he confides to me.

Sophomore Gina Heagy intently watches the action.

In the waning moments before game time, he and Admiral Alicia squat down together in the near corner of the field for some final, private words.

The game is a muddy war of pushing, elbowing, diving. Bodies and cleats scrap for the ball. Coaches yell for their players to run harder, think faster, move up, move back, get in position!

On a throw-in midway through the first half, Alicia Gautreau knocks the ball up with her head and never sees a Vandebilt player coming for her at nearly full speed. They collide, sending Peach to the ground in a crumpled heap.

I watch Goodall pensively. Surely he’ll call for a stop in play, check her injury, sub her out for at least a few minutes. But he never loses focus from the action on the field. Seconds pass, and Gautreau is still writhing on the field face down. Finally she forces herself up, clutching her right side, not once even glancing toward the sideline. She gets to her feet just in time to find the ball coming right for her and lets loose a monstrous kick, rocketing it back towards Vandebilt’s goal. Still clutching her hip, she hobbles down the field and keeps playing.

The game settles into a titanic battle of defense. Both teams protect their goals brilliantly to a scoreless halftime tie.

Fantastic effort, Goodall reassures the team during the break. The score already is a victory. But, of course, it’s not enough. Assistant Coach Raymond Ferchaud issues a stern warning. “Don’t think it’s gonna get easier out there. It gets harder. You gotta leave it all on the field like you did last week. I haven’t seen that yet.” >>

Lightening strikes for Vandebilt several minutes into the second half. The ball rolls past the hands of E.A.’s diving keeper, and now it’s 1-0. The Vandebilt fans explode in cheers. Peach’s red face is grimaced with an angry, furrowed brow. “We’ll just have to win by two,” a backup yells from the bench.

The battle heaves on, and now the clock shows 10 minutes. The mood is changing on the E.A. bench. The home team has allowed only a single shot on goal from the Spartans, and that one breezed wide of the post.

The officials add three minutes of game time, a last chance. Just one goal will tie the score. “Come on, hurry!” Goodall yells with each throw in.

But it’s not enough. The referee raises both arms and puffs his whistle three times.

That’s it. The game and the season are finished.

Tears flow down the Lady Spartans’ faces. Some sob, languishing at midfield together one last time. Brynn Lambert is limping with one shoe. Natalie Gautreau’s swollen leg is strapped to an ice pack.

The girls encircle Goodall. He waits patiently for parents to join their daughters, a custom he adopted for the play-offs. The head coach remains composed, but his eyes are watery and bloodshot.

“Seniors, stand up,” he says. Applause and cheers spontaneously break out for the six veterans.

“Thank you for the practices, for the commitment, for the past 118 days,” Goodall says. “It’s a sad moment now,” he admits, “but there are no negatives. You gave your all.

“I love you, every one of you,” he says.

The girls know he’s right, but it’ll take time to absorb the words. Right now at least, the loss is too painful.

No one should be hanging their heads. You outplayed that team, the assistant coaches insist. Sometimes the game is decided by one, brief break. Today, we didn’t get it.

That’s life.