The Game

I called over to the referee "How long left?" he indicated that there would be two minutes left to play. This was the time to score; at 2-1 we knew this would be the last chance. The weather-beaten football ricocheted off an opposing defender for a corner. The anxiety and worry inside me was unbearable, I knew that this was it, if we didn't do it now then it's all over. "Webby A.K.A Chief" screamed encouragement telling us "This is it boys, I want a blue head on the end of it. Now or never let's have it!". These last few moments almost flowed in slow motion as I saw the steady precise run up of "Larkham" to lift the corner into the sodden crowded box. As the rain fell heavy upon the pitch I saw the ball drift high into the box floating towards the penalty spot. At the back post I was nearly praying for someone to connect with it. I then saw the darting run of "Brett-lee" as he hysterically cried his name and sprung of the wet ground towards the ball. Every single player on the pitch just stared as he rose to meet the direction of the cross. The thud of the wet ball against his muddy forehead was enormous as it rifled towards the top right corner of the goal. The spinning circle in my view crashed against the inside of the net creating a wave of raindrops falling from it. The crowd and players erupted, screaming and shouting. Finally we had deservedly equalised. We lay in the corner of the pitch ecstatic at the goal, hugging and kissing "Brett-lee". The feeling was incredible; we now had our chance to do what we had come for. You could see the opposing players' heads drop as their confidence plummeted. As they lifelessly kicked off the referee blew his authoritative black whistle. Extra time was now daunting upon our shoulders as our manager, his face pale from the previous anxiety and excitement of the closing minutes, told us that we would be playing for the "Golden goal".

The whistle sounded for extra-time to commence. The crowd cheered encouragement as we ran on to the pitch to take our positions. We were teetering on the edge of a tremendous victory or an agonizing loss, which would be the outcome of the next goal. The game restarted with the same ferocity that had been displayed for the last ninety minutes. Nerves were high; anything could happen one fault could cost us the game. However, beside this fact neither team were cautious in their style of play, both forcibly breaking from every attack that was made. About halfway through the first half of extra-time a great chance opened up from a ball through by "Rambo", our strong warrior in middle field, to "Deano" who took the ball swiftly in his stride with his right foot towards the right hand side of the eighteen-yard box. The large frame of the keeper darted off his line towards our oncoming striker ploughing forward like a freight train, committing himself to make a challenge. As "Deano" saw the gap he lifted the ball over the helpless keeper which flew into the air soaring towards the top left hand corner of the goal. The ping of the crossbar was an unwelcome sound to everybody's ears as the ball bounced out of play. We were now on top of the game and with a great amount of persistence we knew we could triumph, as the chance outlined a weakness we had been hacking away at throughout most of the game. The half time whistle reluctantly blew, giving the opposition chance to regroup.

Like "Webby" had said towards the end of full time "This is it boys". We had an immense understanding that if we didn't take our chance now, the game could swing either way via the cruel determining factor of penalties. A colossal task lay ahead of us for the next fifteen minutes. The devilish shade of red that masked the opposing team was our sworn enemy for the next half. Their chances had been few and far between, but our backline knew certain what they could be capable of due to their sheer presence which gained them two well worked goals in the first half of the game of which they dominated.

Again the whistle that could decide our fate sounded. I felt sick from the overwhelming situation we found ourselves in. the fear of loss was so overpowering that I could not concentrate, I wanted, we wanted this win more than anything. The rain was falling hard from the dreary grey sky putting great work on what were already heavy legs trapped in the unset mud. Every pounding step on the pitch used vast amounts of effort, as stamina would decide who the victors of this final were. Monstrous crunching tackles were made to stop the persistence of the opposing team breaking in to our fortress that was our line of defence. For every attack there was a counter-attack and the ball rocketed quickly from end to end even though the players looked lifeless from their efforts. A few great saves from our keeper managed to prolong the game. Watching the shots blaze past your defence is unbearable as you pray for the ball to sizzle wide or be clutched in to the welcome arms of your own faithful goalkeeper.

Two minutes of injury time were again indicated by the sallow look of the referee who also looked like he wouldn't last the full pace of the game. We managed to gain control of the worn ball, stringing a procession of direct passes to one another. The ball was lifted over the opposing line of the midfield where "Deano" held it up. We were now reaching the closing seconds of this restless game, where the ball was delicately chipped back about ten yards towards "Rambo" where it bounced in front of him falling nicely allowing him to connect with it getting a shot on goal. He crafted his body perfectly in the correct stance hitting the ball with all the power he possessed in that wondrous right leg of his. The ball was a missile through a crowd of blue and red wounded shirts, an almost unstoppable speed carried it thirty yards into the top left hand corner of the net. The noise was unbearable as "Rambo" stood there in amazement unable to comprehend what he had just done. Every single player on our team sprinted towards the hero jumping on him, as the crowd rushed on to the pitch in complete and utter amazement at the event that had just occurred. Unconcerned by the other teams misery; we celebrated with an astonishing feeling of accomplishment.

The feeling of that emphatic victory was incredible, I find it hard to gather the words in to a sentence to express just how amazing it felt and still feels to be a part of. Like I said, that would be the last time we would all ever play together and sure enough it was. I will never forget my friends that day, it was the end of an era and those memories I will never lose. That was "the game" that marked our friends time together and the feeling of victory that day shall never be lost, just like the friends I knew that remarkable day.