A Poem I Wrote about Intramural Soccer (..we're on a losing streak at the moment.)

The Name of the Game


I walk out the door and cover my eyes from the blinding light.
It’s game time.
I’ve been pondering the outcome of this game the whole day.
I can feel it within my bones;
this is the game where we are taking the gold.

My team is gathered around, ready to find out their position.
We gather in for a team huddle,
putting out hands in the middle.
“Bologna & Cheese!” we all yell.
Our team is powerful and ready to defend our goal.

The whistle obnoxiously blows,
signaling for the game to begin.
The ball hits our forward's cleat as he passes it to his fellow team mate.

Pushing, shoving, yelling, name calling..
the game is getting intense.
Envy of the opponents swift moves,
we study them as they steal the ball, over and over and over.
We aren’t discouraged by the goals that are scored,
because we are determined to have a come back.

Our eyes are fierce with motivation as we look into the enemies eyes.
One goal is scored. Two goals are scored.
...Not quiet three.

The ball flies up in the air.
This is my chance to turn this game around.
I jump up as I attempt to grasp onto the ball,
but another guy approaches at the same time.
My body is violently slammed to the ground as my opponent crushes me with his powerful body.
My back aches with pain.

I lie in the grass.
My face is against the dirt as I play back what just happened.
I don’t let anyone move me.

I am done with the game of soccer today.
...for the blinding explosion of discomfort in my back speaks louder than the calling to the game.