This Was A Creative Writing Assignment For My Rhetoric And Composition Class. We Had To Write About Any Personal Experience. This Is About A Soccer Game Played In Hs.

921 words - 4 pages

Snow fluttered to the ground and I pulled my flimsy coat closer to guard against the blister chill. Even though the little goblins and ghouls had only just received their annual treats; winter was already wrapping it's bitterly cold hands around me. We marched up to our frozen field to meet our adversaries as we shivered in our navy blue shorts. We could feel their eyes warily look at us with scorn as if this was just a waste of their time.We ignore their contempt though. We maintained the attitude that its just a game. Coach F. always told us to play hard, but play for fun. Winning wasn't important if we had a good time. Maybe he said that because we were the lowest ranked team, but in all honestly we didn't care. We won some, we lost some- well, we lost most of the time- but it was the love of the game that kept us going.We huddle together and do our standard cheer to get our spirits going. We rush off to our assigned positions, ready for the battle. The whistle sounds and the game has begun. I have never witnessed a soccer game in a snow storm before; let alone participated in one!We've played this team before, on their home field. And, of course, we lost, as we always did. They were, after all, the best team in the league. Sussex thought they had an advantage over us. We were a co-ed team; a tragic affront to most of our opponents. Play against girls?! How dare we even make that attempt. Never mind that most of our girls had been playing all our lives.The first portion of the game went fairly uneventfully. They would score, and so would we. Time passes and the game progresses. The harsh and brutal wind attacked us as we fought our multiple adversaries. We had to win. We had to beat the cold. We had to beat the best team, and we must beat the institutionalized idea that girls can't play with the boys.The whistle blares declaring halftime and our bench roars as we are ahead 3-2. Chatter between soccer moms and dads is charged up with proud statements:"That's my son! Yea number three.""That's my daughter! No the one by the coach, the one that scored the first goal...""Man! They're kickin' ass out there!""I can't believe how good they're playin' today! They're gonna win for sure!"We circle together and pump each other up. The cold is barely felt as our excitement, and adrenaline levels, go sky high. The shrill whistle sounds once again, and we charge back onto the field feeling unbeatable.Then, the words, the assertion, that to this day make my fists...

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