At the game last night, Friday April 25th, 2008. Its 7 P.M.,
Its right before my soccer game is about to begin. My team is set up on the field. Everyone is breathing heavily, filling our lungs. As the tension increases, people around me begin to paw at the ground with their cleats, a scratching noise against the black rubber and turf. I tighten my fists and I feel like can hear the dry skin on my knuckles being pulled tight. Finally the ref blows the whistle to start the game; its still ringing in my ears when the ball goes into play. The forwards spring into action; the muted, hollow sound of a kick to the soccer ball draws attention to the center of the field. As the ball moves there is a collision, the sound of knees crushing together, bone on bone. One girl exerts her breath in reaction while the other falls to the ground, the sound of her skin scraping against the rough turf. The ball ricochets off someone's shin and goes whooshing past my head almost silently. My coach yells to us individually as we constantly change our shape to accommodate the game. The muffled noise of a ball being trapped to the ground near the goal excites the crowd. The parents and fans being shouting as my team mate strikes the ball. It sails through the air, the goalie missing it by a finger's length; she thuds to the ground and the ball creates a long swish as it falls against the net and travels downwards. The crowd continues to yell and clap while the team gathers for a loud congratulations. The ref blows the ringing whistle again to end the half. The coach calls for us to gather in the corner. The score is 1-0.
No comments:
Post a Comment