Descriptive Football Essay

Tweet!! the game began. 22 powerful bodies on the field. I was not the starting line of players because I was the younger one and the new one on the team. I knew, in order for me to be the starting player, I needed to prove to my coach that I am capable of being the starting line. My brother was the starting player, not because he was better than me, but he had been on the team longer. He played the same positions as me- left wing- so every time I would have to substitute in for him when he got tired. I didn't have as much time to play as the others did.

Last night I made the drive to Union Local high school to watch my first game, that featured Wier, West Virginia and the Union Local Jets. The stadium was very nice, with the only complaint being three bucks to park.

When he walks into the arena, he instantly feels the thrill. The sport he loves to follow brings many feelings and sensations throughout his body. He scans his ticket at the gate and enters the lobby. He can smell beer and hot dogs, the classic rink food that is a staple in every concession stand. With a chill bubbly beverage in his left hand and the steamy, tinfoil wrapped hot dog in the other he makes his way to his seat. Sitting in his designated spot, he watches the players slice through the ice. His jeans protect him from the gelid metal bench, but the chill still slightly seeps through. The lights go out and spotlights flicker off the glassy ice while catching glimpses of the players who are waiting for the starting lineup. A powerful

It was a bitterly cold Friday night in October. The frosty grass crunched below as if you were walking on a frozen tundra. The moon was full and the home stands were packed with screaming teenagers. The sweet aroma of hot chocolate and pumpkin spice lattes carried over to the sideline as the homecoming football game entered the fourth quarter. We were playing our cross city rivals, Enloe High School. This annual game was equivalent to the Super Bowl between the worst two teams in the league. Both teams knew that their only chance to win a game that season would be this game.

The wind blew against me. My black and white jersey glued tightly against my skin. I could feel the eyes of every single one of my team members, the opposing team and the crowd attentive towards me. I took another step back, feeling the sharp spikes of my new cleats sinking into the mushy grass. The cold air blowing against my bare arms, giving me goosebumps. I look at the distance between the ball as I calculate each step. The ball rests calmly on the white painted dot on the pitch, seemingly oblivious of the wind, strikingly at odds with the rest of the violently swaying grass next to it. The whistle blows. The high shrill noise adding to the sound of the whistling wind. I take a deep breath, keep my equanimity and concentrate. My damp

Going into high school was a big deal for me. A new school with new teachers, friends, classes, and just about anything else you could think of. Everything was new except for soccer. I had been playing soccer since I was five years old, and it had become my favorite hobby since. This year, I had hoped to make varsity on the team, but being the shy, stand back kid I am, I didn’t have the courage to take that spot and become a leader of the team. Being a leader along with a hard working attitude, a desire to win the game, and some skill were the qualities varsity players had. You needed to be able to step up when called upon, rally the team together, and play your heart out. These qualities didn’t suit me at all, or so I thought.

My family is already in the car, as usual waiting on me, but I ran out of the door as quick as I could, so I could jump into my car. I can’t help but to shake, for all I am a nervous mess. It almost looked like my hands were as sweaty as Niagara falls. It is springtime, so the gentle green grass, was super nice to play on in soccer season. Shortly after being in the car, for about 30 minutes we arrive at the field. I can just feel my stomach clench up as I step out of the car. I tried walking as slow as I could to the soccer field, as I thought it would make me feel better. But then I heard a voice….

In our lives struggles and difficulties will never be avoided; they are a part of life. Whether or not we are ready or prepared, they are always going to happen. The fact is that life is ever changing. And, as one season ends and those doors are closed, new seasons as well as new opportunities will come in place of those gone. What makes the difference in each day, however, is how we respond when that adversity comes our way. As was the case this past year in football for me. For me, the most painful and most disheartening game one year (2016), then became the most amazing and elated game I would ever experience when we played the next year (2017).

Every now and then, the faithful one escapes from the chains of to-do’s and is present at the football pitch . Flags sway from left to right, trumpets and drums roar , the magisterial wave wraps around the stadium like wrap around a present. An exquisite, ravishing and magnificent mosaic is made upright by the die hard faithful to send a daring message to those who have entered their grounds. The strict formula, method and regulations of life are thing of the past and their is only one to follow, the heart; there is only one existing location, the temple. In this sacred space, the only religion that does not have atheists exhibits its divinities. Although the fan can contemplate the miracle, more comfortably, on the TV screen, he prefers to undertake the pilgrimage to this place where he can see his angels in flesh and blood, fighting a duel against the demons of the day and explains, “ How will you know what love is if you never became a fan of a club. How will you know what pain is if the defender never broke your tibia and fibula and you were in a slide tackle and the ball hit you right there. How will you know what pleasure is if you never had the pleasure of enjoying an olympic lap around the visitors stadium. How are you going to know what love is if you never caressed her with the back of your foot to leave her panting under the net. Listen to me ... how will you know what solidarity is if you never went out to face a comrade hit from behind. How will you know what

“Riley are you ready to go?” “Yes” I excitedly replied to my father. “Are your clubs in car? “They are” I answered, eager to begin the exciting day. We jumped in my dad’s ford explorer that warm July morning and left for the nearby Ye Olde Country Club. After we finished the 9th hole I ran back to the cart grabbed the score card and began adding. Excitedly I yelled “I did it! I just shot my best score! I was so happy, I will never forget that day that started my love for the sport of golf. I fell in love with Golf ever since I was a youngster, it has had a huge impact on shaping me into the person I am today. It was not just any routine day for me, it was an opportunity to have a good time golfing with my dad. My dad and I have always shared a special bond when it comes to all sports. We have had our good times and also our bad times. Flash forward 6 years and I’m crying at the door before my dad leaves for a Wednesday night Central game vs the best team in the MAC in 2008. Since I could not go. “Why?! That’s not fair” I hopelessly told my parents. Sporting Events, golf and fishing are my favorite things in life not only because my dad enjoys them, but because we enjoy them together.

Everyone says football comes down to inches, but it is rare to witness a game where inches matter. Why is it rare? However, I was fortunate to witness an enormous game that did emphasize the importance of inches.

We were on the bus on September 9, 2017, in Brecksville, Ohio. As the bus was pulling up to the stadium it was dead on the bus as we were all focusing in on one of the hardest games of the season. As we were getting off the bus we felt the intense heat of the sun beating down on our bodies and the sweat was slowly foaming on our faces. During warm up we were all being very serious and not messing around, trying to prepare for the game we were about to play. As the time of the warm up was slowly coming to an end we already had sweat dripping down our damp faces. As we gathered in the huddle we all had a very serious look on our face all looking at each other and our coach waiting patiently to see what he had to say before the game started.

Saturday night, the faithful one escapes from the chains of to-do’s and is orientated to the football pitch . Flags sway from left to right, trumpets and drums roar , the magisterial wave wraps around the stadium like wrap around a present. An exquisite, ravishing and magnificent mosaic is made upright by the die hard faithful to send a daring message to those who have entered their grounds. The strict formula, method and regulations of life are thing of the past and their is only one to follow, the heart; there is only one existing location, the pitch. In this sacred space, the only religion that does not have atheists exhibits its divinities. Yeah the faithful can drown in agony and affliction watching from home in his TV screen, or he without hesitation, without suspicion or confusion prefers to undertake the pilgrimage to this place where he can see his angels in flesh and blood, fighting a duel against the demons of the day and explains, “ How will you know what love is if you never became a fan of a club. How will you know what pain is if the defender never broke your tibia and fibula and you were in a slide tackle and the ball hit you right there. How will you know what pleasure is if you never had the pleasure of enjoying an olympic lap around the visitors stadium. How are you going to know what love is if you never caressed her with the back of your foot to leave her panting under the net. Listen to me ... how will you know what solidarity is if you never went out

On a regular Friday evening, I was able to attend one of my student’s football games. I had two students in attendance one female and one male. The female was on the cheerleading team supporting the team that the male was playing for. The team I was having to root for was recognized as the “Ravens”, composed of quite a few third graders and up. In their gear, as in they were professionals you could tell the excitement from the players as the cheerleaders began jumping and cheering as they approached.

A mixture of pink and white colors fills the September sky with the smell of hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill preparing for the large crowd for the big game at McGee Hughes Wright field. I stood on the sidelines, at the end of the first cheerleader row and right in front of the bass drum players in the stands; I can already feel the overwhelming sensation of energy from the last home football game as a senior.