A light breeze passes across the grassy expanse, gently brushing my face in a momentary embrace. I toe the painted line, poised for the chaos that approaches. A hand is rising, and in the time the arm takes to extend, my mind is racing. A script plays out through my consciousness displaying how the impending scenario will occur. Glancing down the line, I understand my teammates better than I understand myself. I know who is looking more closely at a certain adoring fan on the sidelines than at the opposing team, who is anxious to prove himself on the field, and who is thinking comically incoherent thoughts. To any individual who has not had the privilege of being familiar with so many, these considerations must seem trivial. But they are of the utmost importance to success; my team is a single unit. I know the player to my left is too tired to continue much longer, while the athlete two players past him is faster than ever, hungry from a previous mistake. But that mistake is no longer reality, although its effects might drain or fuel us subconsciously, burying itself in our thoughts and driving us forward. Eventually the hand clutching the disc reaches its apex, causing the picturesque calm to break; frenzied motion follows, just as beautiful as the serenity in its unique way, just as unending in the same. All of it identical to my prediction of the commotion. The game is but a single moment experienced by many, experienced as one.