My Last Soccer Game

Pulling in the gravel parking lot, I can already see spectators set up around the fields. As we walk towards our team, I see girls ripping through their bags to find a lost shin guard sleeve or asking a teammate for an extra hair elastic. After arranging my bag underneath me to save my shorts from the damp dew clinging to the grass, I start getting ready. I jump up for warm-up exercises, my sleepy eyes clearing. Once the referee signals the end of warm-ups, our team huddles together for the pregame speech. Positions are delegated, the starting eleven step onto the field, and the whistle blows.

As I trot the familiar path from the locker-room to the stadium, the air begins to thicken and crackle with static. The sound of cleats scuffing along on the pavement of the track onto the turf, with a faint cheering off in the distance is not easily recognizable inside the helmet. My heart crescendos its beats per second as I get a glimpse of the visiting team. They form a blurry huddle on the other side of the stadium, joined by their fandom that looks hazy like a demonsterous figure from my dreams. I try hard not to notice their fist-pumping movements.

As I exit the locker room, I strap on my black cleats and tighten my gloves. I grab my silver helmet with the lightning bolt logo, touch the sign that says “Play Like A Champion Today,” and walk into the tunnel. Finally, we hear our team’s name, and we run onto the field ready to defeat the fear of losing embedded in our minds. The opportunity arose, and whether we seized it or not, this would be my last game. We took away from that day more than just a win, or a loss. As somber as I was to let this moment go, I knew I had not let my team down. There was no anguish, no agony. These lessons from football have carried over in my journey to become a physician. I knew I wanted a career in healthcare, and football has better prepared me for that.

Walking out onto the opponent’s brightly lit turf field setting up for the kickoff of the second half just gave me the feeling that everybody knows, my hair starts to stand up, butterflies began to flutter in my stomach, and everything seems to slow down. Looking into the stands and seeing that our hometown fans had traveled four hours in order to outdo the home crowd gave me a sense of comfort. Looking into East Jefferson’s stands and seeing that our fans, despite having to travel all the way down south, outnumbered their fans by at least 70 people. I found myself thinking that this meant just as much to our town as it did to our school and team. This feeling would be just the motivation we needed in order to finish this game

It was a brisk fall evening, and my seventh grade youth football team and I had traveled to Aberdeen to play the undefeated Chiefs. We had worked harder and longer than we ever had that week to show that we were a threat in the league and ascend from our third place ranking. We knew it was not going to be easy; the Chiefs’ team had the fastest running back in our division, and they had scored more total points per game than any other team in the Southeast Idaho Youth Football League. The field was neater and greener than we had expected in this town. It was a great day for football, and I was with all of my best friends. I knew going in that it was going to be a learning experience whether we won or lost that night because the Chiefs were

Have you ever felt pain so bad, but you push through it and ignore it ? Have ever wanted to help out your team but couldn’t ? Well I have experienced both it’s a terrible feeling and in my eyes it’s considered a failure to let down your team. How, I let down my team and myself is quite simple and here is how I hurt my knee, but first i'm going to tell you a little about soccer, why I played it, and then i'm going to explain how I hurt it and how it’s a failure to me and how did it affect me.

"Wing right 127 boot pass right on one," whispered coach. I ran out to the huddle and repeated the play.

I drove home from breakfast pumped for the game and more ready for this game than any I had ever played before. I just had this feeling in my heart, that if we all came together as a team and laid everything out on the line, we could come through with our first Monadnock victory. Hours passed, and there was still a nervous pit in my stomach. Bus time came, and we boarded united as a team. Nearly an hour later, we would arrive at our rival’s school. Together, we walked onto the field with an air of confidence and swag. We worked through the usual warm up. Our nerves were still buzzing when we heard the sharp squeal of

It was a cold day in November: an icy breeze blowing across a green soccer pitch in Jackson, Mississippi. Fans along the sideline cheering on the Jackson Elite FC. I took the field feeling the pressure of gameday bearing down like i had weights on my shoulders. This was the first time I had every started as a forward in a soccer game. The referee brings the ball to midfield and sets it down. I hear my parents cheering from the sidelines. The opposing team kicks off and the game is on.

Sitting in the corner on the old, splintered wooden bench, ice on my leg, all I could sense was happiness. As my teammates jumped for joy upon scoring the go-ahead run, I glanced up to the beautiful clear blue sky that suspended over the field. The wind whipped through the dugout, carrying the sounds of the ecstatic crowd. Game over.

As I stepped on the field, I knew the next few minutes could make or break my college options. Although I was only a freshman, if I were able to make varsity, college would be closer in reach. The first feed I had from behind cage was low, my stick drug the ground as if I was using a shovel, I cradled through the ball and somehow came up with it, no problem. My next challenge was to finish the shot. As I made a fake and the ball plummeted to the ground, I knew I needed to step up my game. The second pass came right into the pocket of my stick, I faked low and shot high, directly into the top corner of the goal. I slowly jogged off the field, behind me I faintly heard “way to go kid”, I knew it must have been the varsity coach.

The game was to be decided by penalty shootouts. Once again, the odds were in our favor, we had the best goalkeeper in the league. Despite having to shoot second we all remained confident that we would win. No goal was prevented for the first thirteen rounds of penalty kicks. In the fourteenth round of penalty kicks, the St. John’s striker quickly took the shot and missed. It was up to me to win the game. I set the ball on the ground, took three large steps back looked at the goal and took the shot with all the power I had in my right foot. I missed. My shot hit the top of the crossbar and bounced back to me. My heart sank, I had failed at my job to deliver for the team. We battled back and forth up to the twenty fourth round, when the player from St. Johns finally “made” his shot by protest because it had hit the crossbar gone in and gone out. All Devin needed to do was make his shot to win the game. Devin took the shot. He missed. It was over, our perfect season had come to an end. We had come so close but ultimately

“Grace, take the kick!” My coach yelled. My heart hammered in my chest, my palms sweaty. I scanned all of the people from my team and the other team in between me and the net. If I make this shot my team will win, but if I miss it, we will probably lose. The field grew silent. I eyed the corner of the goal, and then the white and blue ball. That is where I wanted the ball to go, now I just had to get it there.

“Bieber.. Brown.. No basketball and no soccer!” yelled Coach Leonard. Sometime we wondered if coach was psychic. It was crazy how he knew exactly what we planned on doing when we were released from practice.

It was about time, the game was about to start. The stands were all filled up, people lined up outside to see the game. The players were out in right field practicing in the freshly grown emerald green grass. “Just 10 minutes until the game starts!” excitedly said the commentator.