A Feeling I Never Want to Feel

Walking off the field for the last time,

A feeling I never want to feel.

I approach the field, knowing it could be my last time.

A moment I thought would never come.

To continue my season, I need to be in my prime.

I can feel nothing except the lump in my throat, the lump the size of a plumb.

I lead my team through our regular stretches,

Making sure we are ready to play at our best.

I try to focus but know nothing except how horribly my stomach wretches.

“Focus!” I tell myself. “Focus on your quest!”

The whistle blows, and everyone takes their positions.

I head to the right wing, ready to play the most important game of my career.

Everyone thinks we will lose, predicted my numerous statisticians.

I want to win this game so bad; I want that trophy as a souvenir.

A second whistle blows; the game has begun.

I run forward, trying to lose the defenders behind me.

I lose the first, leaving me with only one.

After receiving a pass, I decide to be gutsy.

I see the defender in front of me, backed up by yet another guard behind him.

Not only do I see the goals bodyguards, I also see my teammate running ahead.

I blow past the first defender, only squeezing through by a trim,

I am out of control; I have to get rid of the ball otherwise I am dead.

My teammate, the fastest player on the field, has an open run to the net.

I scout this and send him a long ball.

He receives the ball, sees the open field, and gets his feet set.

He sends the sphere through the air like a missile, only the goalkeeper is a brick wall.

The game goes on and on.

Opportunity after chance after hope, destroyed by the opposing team.

That is, until, a one on our scoreboard is put upon.

The game is only halfway over, but that means I am halfway closer to my dream.

I am filled with glee.

My feet, like a young child, cannot stop moving.

Though my team is leading, a win is far from a guarantee.

We must continue to play hard, otherwise we could start losing.

As I stand further up the field than the stampede,

Watching my defense struggle to contain the attackers,

My heart sinks when I see my goalkeeper concede.

Though the defense did what they could, I cannot help but feel they are slackers.

We are no longer winning.

Time passes and the game proceeds

With nothing but false hope, squandered by the opponent’s defense.

I feel like we will win this game; over our opponent’s, our skill exceeds.

That is, until the other team is on offense.

I sense a bad feeling in my stomach,

Like something terrible is about to happen.

My stomach is right as I watch the opponents score by nothing but dumb luck.

I have to play harder now; I have to show my passion.

Time is running out, and we are losing two to one.

We need to play faster, harder, stronger; we need to score.

This senior soccer season, I am not ready to be done.

We try and try to score, but we are fighting a losing war.

The final whistle blows; the game is over.

We lost.

I will never play soccer again.

The feeling

Walking off the field for the last time,

A feeling I never want to feel.

I never thought this day would come.

I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.

I cannot cry in front of my team, I must be strong for them.

Holding them down is the hardest thing I have ever done; I want to release my cries.

I get in line, telling my opponents “good game” one last time.

I do not want soccer to be over, however I have no other choice.

I would give anything to play again; anything down to my last dime.

As team captain, I give my speech with my wavering voice.

This is goodbye.