The smell of the cut grass, the bright lines showing were the ball can go out, the long bar on top of the goal, and the screaming of the crowd. I’ve heard and smelt these things for eleven years and I am always ecstatic to see the look of the field every season. As I race down the field to dribble the ball I stop to look up and shoot it. I follow up afraid I have missed and need to get the ball back to try again. I watch the goalie snatch for the ball, my heart sinks as its close to hitting her hands. Till I see the ball go to the back of the net, hearing the crowd scream I race back to my position excited and cheer with my fellow teammates as we are all excited for the lead.



As the ball is dribbled toward me I choke up and I’m nervous, I think in my mind what if I don’t get the ball, what if it goes in the back of the net, what if I come so close to getting it but it just wasn’t good enough! What if... what if... what if... my nervousness leaves me, the ball is kicked, I leap to my left and catch the ball! In my mind I am cheering with the crowd but my actions are silent as I punt the ball into the vast opening were my teammates lie. Sometimes I’m not as lucky when it goes to the back of the net I sit and I always tear up, about how I could have stopped it, how that goal should have never been.


Once my team gets at least two goals I get to go out to the field. Back in goal I feel my gut turning and I want it to stop, but sometimes you just got to hold your breath and take the plunge. As I slide tackle to get the ball I’m excited, I’m proud, and I’m ready to get another. When the ball goes out of bounce near the goal the weight thats on my shoulders is lifted off of me and I kick the ball as hard as I can. The world of soccer is just so special to me that I would do anything to play once again.