Soccer

I left the soccer field, in a mixture between totally fulfilled and slightly disappointed, which I know, doesn’t make any sense.  I was totally fulfilled, because I played the whole game in my favorite position, and I thought that I played pretty well. I had fun, and I was exhausted from extreme physical exercise and freezing cold from the twenty-mile per hour winds that kept blowing through my light shorts and t-shirt.  We also tied, which is why I felt that tinge of disappointment.

As I was walking off the field I saw the next team getting ready to take the field.  They were about seventeen years old boys wearing a dark blue uniform.  I was watching the goalie warm up.  He was always on his toes, and he dived for everything.  He was amazing.  He had short curly brown hair, and was probably about six feet tall and two inches.

I was so envious.  I have always wanted to be amazing at something.  I have gone to bed so many nights with the image of being a star in my mind.  When I go to bed, I always pick a setting, and a story, then I dream about it.  For example, last night I dreamed that I was at the Junior Olympics, when a scout came up to me and asked if I could be sponsored by Fischer.   And then the U.S. National coach asked me if I wanted to train in Argentina.  It changes sports, and sometimes it is other things, like what college I get into, and a national writing contest.  But it is always something that I win.  I always win in my dreams, and I always lose in real life.

 

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