The only thing I could hear was my breath. The only thing I could see was the vast green battlefield. The only thing I could feel was the intensity wandering around in the air. My feet were starting to shake, they couldnt wait any longer. The coach was giving us the last-minute instructions, but no one was following. Our focus was on the field, and more accurately, the opponent that was undefeated that season. Wearing these plain blue jerseys, they seemed to be confident and relaxed, when on the other side of the field, the pounding of my heart was as powerful as a wrecking ball.
As time passed, pressure was rising. For me and my teammates, that game was as crucial as a World Cup final. Those upcoming 90 minutes represented our short-term dreams. How could they not? It was a pivotal league-deciding final. The moment had come. Ready to start the battle that everyone was anticipating, both teams took over the field like an army taking over a base. The referee called the captains for kick-off. As I walked up the field, hearing the crowds clamorous screams, and acknowledging their high expectations, pressure was having a never-ending fight with my mind. It was time.
The battle had begun. Every player took his position, defending his nets and threatening the opponents, just like a soldier at war. The only things we were missing were a helmet and a gun. There was no room for mistakes, no room for distraction, and certainly no room for fear. First 40 minutes went as expected; they were full of intensity and caution. Everyone out there .
was giving it his all. The coaches screams echoed in the stadium. Five minutes away from halftime, they had made a mistake; it was a penalty kick for my team. As joy filled us and our fans, I knew I was the coachs choice to execute it. So confident, I took the ball, placed it on the white rounded spot, and looked in the goalkeepers eyes as if I already beat him. .
I missed.