One minute until the game was to start, Coach began going over the tactics for the game and the positions of everyone. I was told my position of left midfielder, my favorite! After Coach Shaun finished his harangue, we formed a mini-circle and grasped each other’s shoulders. (Complex) Hopping simultaneously, we all cheered, “PUMP, PUMP, PUMP IT UP, PUMP THAT COUGARS SPIRIT UP,” then we stopped hopping, placed our hands in the middle and extended them up as we exclaimed, “GO COUGARS!” (Imagery: aural) Our families and friends shouted and clapped; everyone was hyped up for our first championship game. We jogged to our positions. (Simple)
Looking at the flamboyant, yellow- jerseyed opponents, I felt a sense rage rush through my body. “Time to dominate,” I murmured to myself. “FWWWEEEEH!” the whistle sounded, and the forwards passed the ball up. I sprinted up for a pass to get a goal in order to grasp an early lead, and I called for the ball, “Cassidy!” no ball came my way; she had waited too long and the other team gained possession of the ball. Everyone stopped as the ball crossed the boundary line, and the referee signaled a throw-in favoring my team. I picked up the ball and slung it like a human sling shot up the field to a teammate. (Simile)
A shout from the other side of the field, “I’m open!” shrieked Alex Waters, a five foot girl with long, luscious brown hair. The ball was launched to other side of the field, but Alex, in fact, was not open. The yellow team, Downtown was their name, possessed the ball once again. The opponent team crept closer and closer toward our goal, their crowd going wild with shouts. “BLAAAM!” the girl kicked the ball, but Skylar caught the ball with ease, almost as if there had been super glue on her gloves, and their crowd became quicky quiescent. (Onomatopoeia) Five minutes had elapsed in the game; Skylar had the ball in her hands looking for an opportunity to kick it down the field to a player. Cassidy signaled for the ball, and boy was it a good kick by Skylar, right to Cassidy’s feet.
I signaled for the ball, and Cassidy got rid of it just in time. Right down the left sideline past two Downtown girls, I dribbled. I heard her, “thump, thump, thump,” and I told myself at that moment, “Just shoot, you got this Ashley.” I planted my right foot firmly on the floor, swung my left leg back and almost on cue the Downtown girl slid. She slid and her cleat collided directly into my right leg. The ball skewed way left and I, in fact, did not have “this.” My knee bent inward, I heard, “Pop… pop,” it was as loud as thunder to my ears. I panicked, held my leg at the knee joint, thinking my leg was broken. (Complex-compound) I hit the grass with a thud.
All I could think was the worst, “my soccer career is over.” Tears began to seep through my tightly closed eyes; I looked up and the girl gibed, “All I did was slide tackle you BITCH!” That one word rung in my ears, that one word, “Bitch,” I was acrimonious, I wanted to get up- no I needed to get up and just punch her in the face, but I could not maneuver my leg. (Diacope/Epanorthosis) She was so fortuitous, as I laid there helplessly on the ground until my coach came over and cradled me off to the sidelines.
The athletic trainer came over, she performed a couple of tests, and asked, “Does this hurt?” as she poked and prodded with her fingers. She then stared me in the eyes and said straight-faced, but almost mockingly, “You possibly tore your ACL, and you will have to have surgery.” My heart immediately sunk into my stomach: “surgery.” At the thought of that I began to weep. She reassured me, “Don’t worry it is just surgery.” I thought, “JUST surgery, was this woman crazy? Does she know what that means?” (Epiplexis)
Thinking back, two months ago, the soccer game that changed my career, and now I am here, lying supine on this cold operating table, drifting away into a deep sleep.
I was devastated after the injury, but my surgeon was extravagant, and my knee is back to normal. I have to continue to strive for dreams, even if obstacles seem impervious to overcome. Four months I was on crutches, seven months I was in a brace, after six months I could finally jog, and almost a year after my surgery, July 21, 2009, I was finally released to play soccer again, but for a life time, I have a six-inch scar that reminds me of that inauspicious game.
