As the quarter comes to a near end,
The adrenalines pumping.
Your pulse is racing, faster then a drum roll,
You feel nervous,
But confident as always.

Anxiously waiting,
On the tips of your toes.
Thousands of thoughts racing through your head,
Faster then the speed of light,
All with the same goal,

To win.

The fans screaming,
High up in the stands.
The sun above my head,
The heat beating off my face.

Awaiting the sound of the whistle.
Your heart pounds,
Like someone hitting a hammer to a nail.
Feeling it will explode any second,
Into tiny pieces.

The Whistle blows,
Your head is cleared of everything,
With your mind set on the only thing that matters,
The goal; the target.

You break up the field,
Passing the ball teammate to teammate.
Cautiously concentrating,
Like a intense game of chess.
You know you only got one chance,
One chance to succeed.

Your feet planted into the ground,
Bringing your arms back gaining momentum,
You take the shot,
The fans fall silent,
Faces of stone.
You could hear a pin drop,
Their eyes glued on the ball.

You hear the snap of the net,
Accomplishment, gratification, exhilaration,
Overcome you.