An essay I wrote for my english class. Give feedback if there is something that could be changed for the better. The requirements were that it was a descriptive essay. We were to tell a story using as much detail as possible, but not so much that it weighed the essay down.
Victory is sweet, especially when it’s my fault. We won against St. Giles because of my amazing talent (at least that’s what my parents told me). An awkward, white girl with no hand-eye coordination who couldn’t run nearly as fast as the rest of her teammates: that was my life story—until now.
I was 8 years old and playing soccer for my third season. I had finally made starting forward for the number two team in our county. All morning I had felt nervous, butterflies were becoming pterodactyls in my stomach, and I was completely confused as to why I felt this way. I wondered if it was because my love, Tee Evans, had called me that morning to wish me luck in my game, but I ruled that out once I thought of it because boys were gross and didn’t make me nervous.
As my parents pulled us into the parking lot of the field, I got another rush of nervousness but killed that feeling instantly as I stepped out of the car. All of my teammates were squealing and apparently glad to see me–probably because it was my parents’ week to bring snacks for after the game, but I will continue to tell myself it was because they were genuinely excited that I had arrived.
The circle would get larger as more team members would join us in our ritual defense and passing practice exercise. As I stepped in the middle of the circle, I watched the ball and the player to see what move she was going to make. She looked left, then down, then right, then down, and her foot swung back to pass the ball to Ashley. I was on top of my game. My body was doing something unexpected: it was going the way it was supposed to go—I didn’t trip, I didn’t poke an eye. Instead, I gracefully intercepted the ball and with a little fancy footwork and made my way to the outside of the circle. I was no longer the monkey in the middle.
Something was different today. I knew what I was doing. I had confidence. I was ready for anything. I had even done fancy footwork. My stomach was in knots.
The Furman Twisters, my team, moved from the practice field to the playing field. It was surrounded by trees, but there was a perfect path for the breeze to circulate. I was a bit cold. To my surprise and much delight, the coach picked me today to call the coin toss, and we won. Man, I was good. I chose to let the other team have the first kickoff so that we could choose the side of the field we would play on. The sun hadn’t quite risen over the trees yet, but it would in about 30 minutes, so we took the side facing the sun. The other team would have to stare straight into the sun throughout the second half of the game, and that was exactly how we wanted it.
The first quarter was uneventful. The second quarter, likewise. Then it was halftime. Normally the coach would take out his whiteboard and show us what we needed to work on and what plays we should use in the next half, but today he didn’t. He told us to do our normal kickoff and reminded us that this opposing team was, in fact, the number one team in the county: St. Giles. Maybe he forgot that I was his forward—I could take them on. After all, they were only twice my weight and four times my height.
To be a part of St. Giles Soccer Club meant status—forever. Your parents had to have money and you had to have talent if you wanted to be on the best St. Giles team, even as an 8 year old. They had walked out in their wind-suits, all red, with white writing, their names and numbers on their backs with the St. Giles logo on the front. Gag me. Maybe they weren’t our rivals, but they seemed to be. As rivalrous as can be when the players are only 3 feet tall and don’t really know what a rival is. I mean we looked forward to playing them every season because even if we lost, we never lost as bad as the other teams did. Sometimes we secretly hoped we would break the midfielder’s leg so that the team wouldn’t be as good. Nonetheless, they were good, and we had kept them from scoring through the first half.
My butterflies had disappeared while I was on the field, but as the coach began to encourage us to do our best, and more importantly, win this game, they all rushed back, this time not disappearing. I was up front for the kickoff. I tapped the ball slightly over the line and the two intimidatingly tall girls from the opposing team, rushed forward. Ashley passed it back to Jenna, and I rushed forward, against the flow of all of the red-suited girls. Jenna’s pass was perfect. It came at me and I nestled it to the ground using my chest and a tap with my knee. The crowd was impressed and the cameras started flashing.
This was why I had butterflies. I knew it. I knew something was going to happen. A huge girl (at least four and half feet tall and twice my boney size) rushed towards the ball. Her eyes were on my prize. Her face was mean, focused. She knew what she wanted and she knew exactly how to get it. I was about to lose all of my baby teeth, and I was sure I would swallow them so the tooth fairy wouldn’t even be able to give me money. This was bad.
I was 25 yards from the goal on the left side. I looked to my right, and there was nobody. I looked to my left, and still, there was nobody. I needed someone to pass to. I couldn’t continue with the ball while there was so much pressure. I would try but the opposing defender would steal the ball and kick it hard enough to score a goal from the opposite end of the field. I was sure I couldn’t do it. I decided to pretend like I was Mia Hamm. I needed some kind of confidence, or this girl would run over me. I needed her to think that I was a lot better than I actually was. I waited until she took her eyes off the ball, and faked a pass and sprinted with the ball to the right. She fell for it, literally. The only defender left was on the ground now, and I was home free. I kept the ball close just in case there was someone coming up behind me. I was in complete control and all eyes were on me. It was intense. I still had time to lose it.
Normally, I would cave under pressure. I would hear my dad cheering me on at the sideline right alongside the coach, and I would think that I needed to be better at soccer than my little brother, who was quite good for a first grader. I wanted to be the star of the game, and the star of the family, just for a day. I needed this.
As I drew nigh to the goal, I knew it was time to take the shot. I also knew that I was still too far to the left to shoot with my right foot and be able to make it in. I was going to have to power kick it with my left foot. Although we had practiced this many times, I had never actually perfected the task. I was better than some but not quite the best, and this goalie…Well, she was the best. She was fearless; she would dive for anything and could stop whatever came her way, and was scarier than the defender that was twice my size. I thought about bargaining with her: she could have the ball, and I would keep my legs attached to my body.
Coach Danny was yelling at the top of his lungs “Sarah, kick it! If you don’t kick it now I’ll kick your butt later! Kick the stinkin’ ball!” If I didn’t kick it now he would yell at me for not making my move in time and the tie would be blamed on me. If I did kick it now, I would have to kick it with my left foot, and if I missed it, he would yell and make me run laps and practice with only my left foot for the rest of the season. I had to kick it. I couldn’t have the tie blamed on me, and I hated running. No.
I drew my left leg back, and as awkward as it felt, something was feeling natural about this particular kick. You can do it. I very carefully swung my leg towards the ball and kicked it properly with my shoelaces straight towards the right side of the goal. Did you just screw that one up? My face probably looked like I was about to get hit by a train. I was so scared, so nervous, so excited. It has to go in the goal! The ball rose from the ground into an arch, and at the peak of its arch, hit the right goal post and right as the goalie fell to the ground, the ball passed over her, and the net caught it gracefully. Conquered.
I had just scored a goal! I had never scored a goal before, and never did I think that this would be the game to score the first one. We were playing the champions, the big girls, the most aggressive players, and I overcame the odds with my fancy footwork that I since, have never been able to do, and my left-footed kick. I was amazed, and a little proud.
