Personal Narrative-Catholic Youth Soccer

Two years ago I played my first high school soccer season and it was one of the best experiences I had related with this sport, but what made it special was the last game we faced. Just like Forrest Gump quoted, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.” This is how the surprise started; some friends and I were moved up from freshman team to the JV team and we were excited to compete for some game time. Even though we had very low chances, we gave our 100% in the few training sessions we had to earn a spot. Friday night arrived; I was frightened and shocked to face the best team in our district.

On one fall morning, my mom and I arrived at the Hulmeville Soccer Tournament. There were so many teams that had great potential to win. My teammates and I Were excited to play theses teams and push our skills to the limit. Our soccer team won all five games that we played. Therefore we made it to the championship angist Hulmeville, one of the best teams in the tournament. The game started and there were no goals scored. Since it was the finals, we went

I refused to cheer too much because I know it would drive my focus away and it was best to stay humble. I reminded the offensive team this because it would be our hubris if we let our victories envelope our heads. By the end of the final quarter, we had won our game by only a 2-point conversion. The cannonade from my chest was still lunging towards the outside world. Throughout the game I feared failure, yet I overcame it. Realizing that my role was more influential than I known previously, I adapted to the pressure. I reflected on my own performance and knew I could do better. There was so much I could improve on and I was determined to be the

Our season was coming to a close, and we were all excited for our final game of the season; that is, until we found out that the coaches and parents of the opposing

I approached the gym, nervously changing into my soccer gear, and facing some very skilled players. I felt that because I had practiced so much, my abilities had definitely improved. Not only this, but because I had already experienced two nerve wracking years trying out, I knew exactly what Mr. McBurney would throw our way. My past would

My freshman year I made the Varsity soccer team. Every practice I had to strive and work harder to be able to keep up with the upperclassmen skill level and talent. I was finally getting to where I wanted with consistent practice. I became a starter and the upperclassmen would pass me the ball more and help me on the field when there were opponents on me. It wasn’t until the middle of the season when everything changed. We were playing against a school who was very skilled and talented. It was in the first half of the game when one of the girls on the opposing team had the ball and was dribbling it down the field. It got past our midfield players and two defenders. I was the last one before it reached our goalie. I ran towards her and with everything I had I kicked the ball.

The mens’ soccer game vs. South Alamacen was the athletic event which I attended. The game was at home at the soccer field and it started at 6:00 PM, August 23. The game was comprised of two 45-minute halves with no overtime, so it was possible for the game to end in a tie. Early in the first half of the game, South Alamacen scored two goals, making the score 2-0 with South Alamacen in the lead. With 26 minutes remaining in the first half, NCSSM scored which made the score 2-1. Three minutes later, South Alamacen scored which made the score 3-1, but two minutes after that Joe Benson scored for NCSSM making the game 3-2 with 20 minutes left in the first half. Many students were in attendance, with more students showing up as halftime drew to a close. By halftime, there was a student section full of kids while parents filled up the other two bleachers.

The red curtains open to reveal a blinding bright spotlight and a packed arena. Getting to the National Championship an immense amount of preparation. We had two minutes in front of the judges. We put our hands in the middle of our circle. For the last time of the season, we chanted “LHS cheer!”, and then we were off. The crowd was silent with anticipation. The routine felt like second nature and we ended up doing well. We made it to finals and ultimately took fourth place in the nation. It the first time in five years that our team had placed. It was a long journey getting to this point.

TWEEEEEET. Boom boom, boom boom. I heard the beating of my heart as I picked myself up from the ground. Trailing 1-0 with just over a minute left to play, the referee had blown the whistle for a penalty kick, and my coach was calling my name to take it. I stepped up to the spot, it was the last play of the game. I stared into the keeper's eyes. Left or right, left or right. He blew the whistle. Strategically placing the ball into the lower right corner, I could smell the celebrations, I could hear the parents and teammates chanting my name, but instead, all my senses were snapped back to reality when the keeper hit the ball out of bounds. That was it, I had the chance to win the championship for my team, and I blew it.

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.

When I was eight years old, I played my first season of soccer. The real reason I played soccer was because my dad forced me to play. I loved to play all kinds of sports such as basketball, baseball and football but I was never interested in soccer. After my first practice I already realized soccer was not for me. I told my dad that I did not want to play anymore but he would not listen and made me keep going to practice. At my 3rd practice, the whole team was running laps and I tripped over a stick and fell down. My ankle was hurting pretty bad but I knew I was going to be fine. While I was lying on the ground, I thought to myself If I tell the coach and my dad that my ankle is hurt really bad than I won’t have to play anymore. I thought it was a genius idea at the time. I told them just that and it worked! I have no idea how my dad knew this but once I got home he knew that I was milking my injury. He told me something that night that I won’t ever forget. He told me “you didn’t just give up on yourself, you gave up on your team”. He called the coach the next day and told him that

All of the hard work culminated in our last game of the season, the division title was on the line. With fifty-six seconds left in the game, we earned a corner kick. A perfect ball spiraled toward the six-yard box. Time slowed to a crawl as I felt my body leap into the air. Reaction, muscle memory and instinct took over. My teammates erupted when the ball whizzed off my head and landed in the back of the net. The clock buzzed seconds later and we all ran together to celebrate our win. I was elated we had won the game, but more importantly, I felt satisfied, and not just because of the goal.

I was shaking from nervousness. I knew that I had to give it everything I had for the sake of my team. I ran out on the field. As the ball was being played on the other side, I prayed that I would have an opportunity to help my team. Not a minute later, the ball flew up over me and the rest of the offense. One of the midfielders dashed to the ball. She ran down into the corner and passed it to the middle. I stood there, anticipating the drop and ready to score. As the ball fell to the ground, I took a small step back. I quickly got my balance, and shot as hard as I could. Time seemed to stand still as the ball flew through the air, over the goalies hands, and right into the corner of the goal. I had done it. I had broken the tie. My whole team rushed over to give me a hug. I was almost crying from joy. I could hear my parents and the other fans cheering for me from the sidelines. Shortly after we took the lead yet again, the final whistle blew. We had

“Go Spartans Go!” screamed the crowd as we took the field. I felt nervous, with sweat dripping from my face and my hands feeling moist. The moment I took my position, I felt destined to be the best player on the field and thought to myself, “I can do it.” It was my first start for my career as a varsity soccer player for Brookfield East. I wanted to make every opportunity count. I could smell the scent of the freshly cut grass and the aroma of the concession stand. The referee blew his whistle and we were off to the races. The first 45 minutes went by in a heartbeat and I was exhausted. 5 minutes after halftime, the unthinkable happened. As I was sprinting for the ball, my knee gave out and twisted beneath me. I fell in an instant and I felt

I find inner peace through soccer, and I’ll explain this. I was born in Westerville, Ohio to parents from Ghana. Soccer (or football/ball as it’s called there) is the most played sport in that country, I’ve always been trying to be a ‘true Ghanaian’ by doing typical Ghanaian things, I’ve always been proud to be Ghanaian even when I was young and didn’t know much about the country. I’ve been playing soccer for 6 or 7 years, with each year, I’d say that I’ve became a better soccer player. I didn’t think that my love for the sport would grow and hit my heart as it does now, I always think that I can be the Landon Donovan, Clint Dempsey, Jozy Altidore, Mario Balotelli, or even Baba Rahman with hard work and dedication and be able to prove to my