Volleyball Is My Favorite Sports

We walked together to the field, the spikes on the bottom of my cleats clicking with each step on the parking lot pavement. A huge field with onlookers filling the bleachers on the far side came into view, lit up by the soft evening light. I spotted the girls on my team and my tired looking grey-haired coach. Me and my dad split up, me going to warm up with my team and my dad going to sit with the team parents. As I was passing with my teammates I watched the opposing team carefully. I observed how neat their drills were and how accurate their shots and passes were. They all looked so athletic and that really made me doubt myself. How was I supposed to prove to everyone that I was a good player if I had to play against a team this good? What if I mess up and the other team completely destroys my team? The loud buzzer that ended the warm ups sounded and both teams went to their side of the field. My coach called today’s starters out, and luckily he didn’t choose me. Relieved, I went to go sit on one of the hard metal chairs they provided for the teams on the sidelines. The chairs were uncomfortable but that didn’t bother me. I had other things on my mind. I sat shivering watching the events of the game

The second practice we went straight to work. Coach Andy made us run as well as tackling drills. It was during one of these tackling drills that Mike had gotten injured. One of the team members had accidentally hit Mike’s elbow with his helmet. Mike was in severe pain and the coach insisted he keep doing push ups. I went over to Mike and tried to talk to him but he was in too much pain to even hold a conversation. Eventually, the coach realized he was injured and sent him to the bench. The next day, Mike was in an arm sling and was forced to quit the season.

Volleyball season had started, and that means six o’clock practices bright and early. Practice was two hours long before school. I could feel the anxiety in the gym that day; everyone was nervous, thinking about what was to come. We did not play the best that day, to say the least. We kept seeing people walking past the gym, wishing they were anywhere else. The whole team was waiting for the clock to read eight so we could rush upstairs to change. At last, Coach let us take down the nets and go get ready. Our excitement led us to break record time taking down the nets.

At first I intended to keep going this way, if my dorm parents didn't introduce to to the long distance coach of track team in an occasional opportunity, claiming that extracurricular sports practice would definitely assisted with my situation of depression in both physical and mental ways. I looked into her expectant eyes, hesitated, and agreed. Because in her eyes, I saw the silhouette of myself, who has abandoned her fragile dream, becoming a pale and featureless figure. And at that moment, I naturally wanted to bet all my fortune to chase back those of my aspirations, who got washed away with my tears of disappointed that a and dazed emptiness.

It was my sophomore year, and the day had come to find out who made the varsity lacrosse team. We piled into the locker room to discover rows of brand new helmets. The list of the varsity players was written on the whiteboard. The team was excited, the locker room buzzing with noise. My heart dropped as I realized that my name wasn’t written there. My friends were admiring their new helmets and I had to hold back tears and disappointment. I know now that I still had to be developed at the junior varsity level, but it wasn’t easy to understand back then. At practice that day, I played out of pure spite, every move filled with rage. You aren’t good enough, I thought. I left practice that day without saying goodbye to my friends.

It was the aftermath of the Friday night game that I’ve given any signs of an injury, and my family and close ones felt sorrow for me and the following Monday. Throughout my life, peers and elders engraved an image onto me being that sports held a bright future for me, and it will lead to the true path of greatness, and one single injury puts me an aggravating, melancholy rut. Viewing my teammates playing angered me since the injury forced me into a world of therapy for the rest of the season. All the promises I made for myself were undone, athletic scholarships, the path to greatness, and my only school pastime and passion flowed throughout my body and into a pipe dream.

The objectives and learning goals used are aligned with the State Standards as listed above due to the fact that every student should be able to complete the specific skills required, and allow for teammate interaction and a feeling of satisfaction during play. This lesson is designed to introduce the skills to the students so that he/she can be more familiar with the sport of volleyball and learn that the sport can be carried on and used later in life. The main goal, however, during every physical education lesson, is to promote a lifetime of physical activity for my students. Making activities fun, enjoyable, and enthusiastic will allow them to want to continue participating for a lifetime. Previous knowledge of movement is important in physical education. Each student will be required to move during every activity he/she is involved with.

There's fifteen seconds left in the game, and we're down one. It’s summer league game, but there is a large crowd of red and black screaming their support. The crowd is nervously sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting to see the outcome. The tall, player from the other team, with sweaty hair matted to her forehead shoots the ball, and it clangs off of the rim into Brooke's awaiting hands. With lightening speed the orange ball hits Ally's open hands before finally landing in mine. I pound the bright ball up the floor and towards the waiting basket. Planting my right foot I push off the ground for a layup. As my body connects with the opposing player, knee to knee, I hear the high-pitched sound of the referee's whistle. With a sickening

This cliché echoed in my ears as I picked myself off the floor. I could see the crowd in the sidelines—fans in worry and shock. I tried to get up only to find that I could not. Some teammates sprinted over to help lift me up, but their sportsmanlike intentions only worsened the pain. After gathering enough willpower, I arose and hobbled over to the bench, feeling ashamed at my inability to fend for my own team.

Later in the day, my wife pointed out to me that there was a picture of me in the newspaper, vomiting. When I saw that picture for the first time my stomach turned. I thought I was going to throw up again. It was incredibly humiliating and I knew I couldn’t let the people who looked up to me the most see me like that. Not my teammates, my peers, my wife, my son, nobody. It was pathetic. With that picture out in the media, I was already focused on tomorrow’s practice. I was determined to come back the next day, playing harder than ever, and proving everyone wrong.

Stressfully, I hustled to change; it was when I was running out the door, when I tripped and fell on my backpack. I spun my head around to look back at it, and all I could hear was it’s villainous laugh blaring in my ears as I rose up and ran towards the car. The practices were from eight to ten at night, and I rarely returned home before ten thirty, not taking into account the added time for a shower. With this in mind, all I could think about at practice was how badly I had false stepped, and how little sleep I was going to acquire that

The air was cold and eerie as my teammates and I got ready to take the field for baseball practice. Our coach called for a night practice in the middle of September following our devastating loss in the championship game a few weeks ago. “Let’s go! Start running laps around the field!” my coach shouted as players were still getting dressed and warming up. Most of my teammates still shattered by the championship loss weren’t feeling enthusiastic about practicing. We finished running our laps and moved on to the next portion of our practice which was long tossing. I wasn’t aware that such a routine practice would be the one to change my life.

Practice was going to be over in ten minutes, and I thought that everyone on my team, at least my best friend would come to ask me how I was feeling. However, not even one soul walked towards me to question my condition. I, quietly gathered my belongings, and started to head to the front of the school. While I was gathering the courage to walk properly, I called my mother and told her that I was done with practice.

We rushed out onto the field for the last time. The chilly rain was pouring down. The field was soaked. With every step I took there was a sloshing sensation in my cleat. I put my game face on. No ball would get by me. We were going to score. We were going to win. For the next twenty five minutes, I watched a back and forth in the midfield. Several times I stopped the ball and passed it forward to Kaylee, only for the pass to be intercepted before we were able to score. And then, just as the clock was running down to under five minutes left, I stopped a hard pass just outside our circle. I dribbled for several

I was an incoming freshman, two weeks prior to my first day of high school, and I was terrified. I knew that I loved the sport of football, however I had heard stories from my brother about how tough Stepinac’s freshman football coach was. Everything that I was told was true. One of the coaches great lessons that he taught me was that a hardworking disciplined team is typically more successful than a team that has all of the talent in the world, but is not disciplined and does not work hard. That summer was the hardest that I had ever worked up to that point to start in a football game. The hard work never paid off, and I left at the end of that season defeated. I wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t fast enough, and I wasn’t strong enough. I had only played in two of the games, one, for a snap when