It sits in the green grass staring at me. I am the only one prepared to pick it up and play. One yellow ball made of rubber, bouncing around like bunnies. One yellow ball that smells fresh and new. One yellow ball that desires to be in the place it is not. I see it from a distance and run to it, prepared to make it my own.

Its outer layer is slippery. It tries to run from my stick, not wanting to be picked up. It rolls and hops through the field, finding every will to move. This is how it resists.

It felt heavy, like a rock holding me down. No, no, no it yells as I begin to handle it in my posession. It struggles.
As I near the goal, the ball resists less as it trusts me now. Time slows down and everything around us stops. The ball begins to shake with excitement as I throw a pump fake. Quickly after I launch the ball and hear it smack the back of the net. It sits happily in the grass.