Running, juking, and swerving, he turned inside and next
thing you know, a collision between a hard hat and a human
organ of the digestive system. When I tackled him there, I flew three yards away over him. When I opened my eyes, the dark brown dirt with La Sella green colored grass stuck in my facemask. Once I got off the ground, the teen I tackled was still on the floor. His hands were pressed against his body tightly with his head hanging over his waist. The referee had to stop the game to check if the player was ok. His body language made me assume that he got the air knocked out of him. Once his coaches came over to see if he was feeling well, the football player didn’t respond. That’s when I knew that I did make him lose his breathe. I felt proud of myself because I have never done that before in my previous football years.
After the game was complete with the score with us
winning forty-nine to zero and our coaches giving the team an
after game report, my teammates and I walked back to the
parking lot to go home. While I was walking back to my car,
there was a football player from the other team with a ridiculously funny but sad last name, Faga. My friend and I didn’t
mean to be mean but it was hard not to laugh. What I barely
realized was that was the player that I had hit in the stomach
was him. I learned something that day; one, I am capable of
making someone lose their breathe and two, there are some
weird last names out there. (I don’t mean to be mean, but I just
can’t help it.)