I

The old wrinkled hands
grasped the torn, dusty photograph.
Slowly elevating it ever so close
to his scratched glasses.
A tear falls from his left eye
still angry of how the game was stolen from him.
The ?days pass like years but?
it fells? like he was playing just yesterday.?
He drops the picture back onto the dusty, blue table
and paces toward the? old? door with a half broken handle.

II

The sun ?peers ?down on him
like a spotlight on an escaped fugitive.
He pries open the rusted red door of his brothers Camry
and plops down on the? overused? seat.
As he pulls out of the parking garage he pushes for the automatic windows
and he can feel the slight breeze blow through his luscious long hair.
It brings him back to the day when? he was in goal ?for the Chicago Fire
just before THE INJURY.
He tries not to remember it, ?but it will always be with him.?
As he pulls into the parking lot of the elementary school.
where he found his love for the game he
?gets
?
choked
up.

III

He pulls out all of his balls and cones from the trunk
and with his head high walks onto the field.
As time trickles on more and more players joyfully
run onto the field ready to play.
The joy on the kids faces? instantly make his day better?
?as it reminds him of himself at a young age and why he started.?
He peers over to a kid putting his classic black and white cleats on
and it brings a rush of memories back into his mind? like a heard of bulls running through a tight fence.?
The coach takes a moment to pull himself together
?and starts to teach the children about
the beautiful game of soccer.?