Personal Narrative-Thee Football

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Bitter Sweet It was a warm and windy Tuesday night in the middle of March 2007. Thee soccer playoffs were here, bleachers were packed and boy was I nervous. It was the first ever appearance in the postseason. All week our team was on edge, we were just so excited but nervous at the same time. For some of us seniors this could be the last game that we ever suit up for. Going into the playoffs we were in an unfamiliar position as we were the favorites to win it all, according to the polls. All year we heard that we weren’t disciplined enough to win district, let alone state. The online forums were covered by the fans from Greensville explaining and predicting how bad they would demolish us. This was just extra motivation and we had something…show more content…
The ref blew the whistle and finally we were off and running. They hit us hard and fast to start the game. We just looked dazed and they constantly were putting pressure on us. We knew we were in for a tough night but we had no idea how tough it would actually be. The opponent cleared the ball and it was coming straight towards me in the middle of the defense. I had time to bring the ball down, control it, and play it to someone in the midfield. While I was getting in position I slipped right in front of the fans and their team bench and made the first big mistake of the game. The ball got past me and a forward on the opposing team ran onto it and put it away for the first goal of the game with fifteen minutes remaining in the first half. We were deflated and the fans harassed me the entire rest of the half. They kept yelling “Don’t slip” and they had a player guide so they were calling me by name and saying very personal things. We headed to halftime down 1-0 and we needed one hell of a pep talk. I was down at the moment and knew I must come up big in the second half to make up for my mistake. I am not the type of leader to sit there and motivate you with words. I motivate by how hard I play during games. We walked out of the locker room and we looked more relaxed which we should have been to begin with. We came out charging as soon as the ref blew the whistle to start the half. We had chance, after chance, after chance and nothing was going in. The time was running out and our dreams were slipping through our fingers. Until with five minutes left they fouled our best midfielder, who got midfielder of the year and was my brother, about thirty yards from goal. My brother hurried to the ball, we needed as many chances as we could get because time was against us. He judged his angle and determined where he would place the ball. As he kicked the ball it seemed like

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