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A Dream

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A Dream One by one we stepped of the bus after a comfortable nap on the red beds situated at the end of the bus. I was last to get off, I had a feeling of perpetual tiredness in my legs, I felt shaky and nervous. At first I couldn't think about what I was going to do on the pitch, all I thought about was after the match. As we walked down the tunnel, I saw framed pictures of legends such as Bobby Charlton, Denis Law and Eric Cantona. The sense of 'I could be one of them' filled my empty head full of impossible thoughts. The tunnel was painted red and white, our home colours, the colours of victory. It was very long; all you could see in the darkness was the grass at the end of the tunnel like little green spikes they stuck out of the ground with light catching glimpse of their strong straight body. The smell of the hazy grass from down the tunnel went up my nose and soon reached my brain to intensify my nerves even more. ...read more.


It was better late than never. The ball rattled the net, and bounced on the floor a few times like a bouncy ball waiting to be caught. The crowd went mad. The player, who scored, picked up the ball after a little melee with the goalie who tried to stop him. He jogged back to the centre circle with the ball, with one hand in the air, appreciating the support the fans were giving him. The whistle was blown once more and we were off again... The final whistle went it was 2-2. We scored in the last dying seconds of the match. All content with ourselves we trudged off to the gaffer and sat down on the pitch. I still couldn't get my head around the smell of the grass, warm and comforting like high summers. The gaffer sent all the coaches to massage the life back to our limbs. I could see that even the fans were tired, hoarse and emotional from their unswerving enthusiasm, as most of their voices had now gone from all the shouting, but I guessed it had helped as we were still in this match. ...read more.


It has always meant everything! I would scream in my bedroom but my mother was too scared to do anything about it, she too couldn't stand in my father's way. It took me until I was sixteen to stand up to him and kick him out of the house. I was bullied in school for not having a father, for not having many friends, for not having any football talent. I used to be called 'footballer wannabe'; this infuriated me so much that all I concentrated on throughout my school years was football. And now what can those measly kids say to me, captain of a famous team, playing in a cup-final. Again my mind returned to the present. My body still stalled me, I didn't know what to do, either to let my knees give way, or stand there waiting for a lifeline to be found from the empty abyss...... Suddenly I heard the gaffer shout 'come on ma lad, you can do it'. I woke of this terrible moment and blood started to flow again around my body. I coolly walked up to the ball, stepped back a few paces and ran as fast as I could towards the ball, hit it as hard as possible and stare. The ball rotated in mid-air and travelled towards the goal..... ...read more.

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