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I kicked the ball and if I remember correctly it went through at least three kids’ legs and went it in the goal. My mom since I was little wanted me to play football.
It is a sanctuary for me, a therapist for my troubles, a shoulder to cry on for my bad days, and a best friend when I have no one to turn to.
I believe that soccer is the greatest and most aggressive sport played.
When running this noose shaped death trap, you must circle it a minimum of four times before you can say you have accomplished anything of some worth and significance; this being one full mile.
The loathsome benches sit on the side of the field, and mock me for every mistake I make.; for I know that any error I make has the power to put me into it's cold unforgiving clutches, where I may have to spend the remainder of the game.
The enormity of it all should make me feel insignificant but instead empowers me.
Here, I can remember every victory as if it was all replaying right in front of my eyes for the second time. Here, I can do what I do best; and that is play soccer.
Although I have played every position there is, right in front of the goal is where I belong, as a defender.
Protecting that eight by twenty-four rectangle is what my team counts on me to do.
The eighteen foot rectangle just in front of our goal defines my boundaries with its crisp white painted lines.
I can hear every voice that has ever once rung in my ears from the stands, especially my mom's voice; which I can always pick out of a crowd.