When playing a tough opponent I get excited.
The harder the opponent the more excited I get because I know I do better against tougher people.

The ball flies over my head and it’s down to a foot race.
I get an adrenaline rush.
My legs hit the grass.
Boom, Boom, Boom!
My arms pull the wind behind.
I am gaining field.
There is only a stride between us.
I get serious, happy.
I am faster so I turn and face.

One touch too far and I step through the ball.
She steps at the same time.
The ball stops dead at my feat.
The other chic goes down, down, down.
I smile, not full out.
Only a smirk.
Because it feels sooooo… good to be triumphant.
I also don’t want to be rude.
Not too rude.

I take off and eat space.
I play Cooper a through ball.
And she is off.
Beating people with speed.
A chop here and there.
She crosses the ball.
I can hear the silent power of her kick.
I see the ball soaring across the 18, the 6, to the goal.
I hear the swoosh of the ball hitting the net.
I get ecstatic all over again.

The crowd goes wild.
Teammates high-five.
I look up and see the sorrow.
Fury.
Disappointment growing in my opponents’ eyes.
The referee blows the whistle.
Tweet, toot, tweet.
The game is over.
We have won.
I feel relieved, tired, happy, sad that the game is over.

Coach gives his speech.
I don’t listen.
I already know we have gotten to the next level.
And I am ready for more.