I was gutted, the rest of the day I couldn’t concentrate, I just felt sick. My friends tried to cheer me up telling me that it was probably just a mistake but I couldn’t help thinking I just wasn’t good enough.
That night I went home and hardly said anything, I was so miserable it felt my life was crumbling. I wasn’t that good at anything else apart from a few things at school. But football was the thing that really mattered to me, my parents tried to cheer me up, my dad would take me to City games and my mum would buy me the new city strip but nothing would help me get over the rejection I had suffered.
Whilst at a City match I was reading the match magazine, it had an article in it about a young player named Shaun Wright-Phillips, it said that he had the potential to be a fantastic player, but when he was only a teenager he was rejected by a club because he was too small. This heart-warming story reminded of my own rejection.
The article inspired me to start practicing my technique again, at first I was hesitant but once my foot gracefully directed a pin point 40 yard pass I realised what I was missing.
From that day forwards I decided to get back into the routine of working on my game, my parents were as eager to push me on as I was to play; I decided I was going to get into that team.
I knew it would take me a long time but there again I knew I could do it! I trained endlessly for weeks and weeks, every day focusing on one aspect of my game. It took me a year to pick up enough confidence to finally go back to the training. By this time I was in Year 9 and I was a lot smaller than many of my friends.
As I got changed I was nervous yet excited, I had been working for this day for a large percentage of my so far short existence. I felt it was double or quits for me, I would either get back into the team and feel like I had achieved something or on the other hand not get into the team and lose all my self-confidence.
I ran down the step from the changing rooms, my heart throbbing as hundreds of heart wrenching emotions went through my shaking body. I felt physically sick and I believed I couldn’t do this.
Once I got on to the field and me and the football skillfully maneuvered past my pals I felt at home, it was a long time since I had played football properly, but I knew I was ready.
That evening I ran my socks off, I had run up and down the field numerous times. After we had finished I felt very conscious of how well I had performed under the high amount of grotesque pressure I had put myself under.
For the next few days I was anxiously waiting for the ‘results of my challenge’ every time I saw a teacher going to put a notice up my heart beat grew faster and faster. After 3 days of waiting, I just wanted to find out, I wasn’t bothered anymore.
After days of frustratingly waiting, my friends told me the team sheet was up. I dropped my lunch and ran to the notice board. My eyes wandered down the page, and once again I saw my friend’s names Abbotson, Jackson, Jarvis. Then I saw it, the wind beneath my wings, it was in bold print, and I read it aloud Williams!
I jumped up and down screaming and shouting with overwhelming sense of happiness. No words could describe what I was feeling; everything I had been working for had paid off.
When it came to the day of the match I was a bag of nerves, I was physically shaking with anxiety. We were aloud to go out of school early because of the game, for so long I had seen my friends going without me, but I finally I was joining them where I belonged.
Once again whilst I was getting changed I felt scared yet happy to be there. I slowly walked onto the pitch, my hands trembling in the wind. As I warmed-up I became impatient and just wanted to get on with the game.
We were all ready to go, and then the referee blew his whistle, for the whole game I was on the tips of my toes, I was ready to receive the ball at anytime. I played fairly well throughout the game and didn’t make any mistakes. Then in the last minute when we were 3-1 up I was clean through on goal, I only had the goal keeper to beat, I went to shoot and as my foot went back a defender from the other team came and recklessly tackled me.
We were awarded the penalty, as the penalty would have no significant value to the outcome of the game; I was then aloud to take it. The twelve yards separating me and the keeper felt like a hundred and twenty yards. The keeper stood tall in his net, his strong presence trying to cast doubt on my mind. I found the spot where I was aiming for and focused on hitting that place in the net, I ran up to the ball, everything felt like slow-motion. As I hit the ball I slipped over, I didn’t see whether there was a goal I just turned around and buried my head in my hands. I could hear the other team celebrating; I looked up to see my friends run up to me with smiles on the faces.
It turned I had actually scored, it felt like the closing scene in a corny feel-good films, but that cheesy moment was real and I felt so good after that. The referee blew his whistle for full time and I ran of the pitch delighted, I felt like I had risen to the top of cloud number nine.
For the next year I was a regular part of the school football team playing in all fourteen games of the season, I managed to score 3 other goals as well, one free-kick, one 30 yard drive, and a header from a corner. I was happy with my performances for the team, but I wanted to further myself and join a proper football team in a proper league.
One day in the summer holidays, I was reading the Warrington Guardian and in the sports section I read about a new football team starting up called Grappenhall Boys, I new my friend Abbs used to play for them so I decided to go along to the training
I couldn’t go to the first couple of trainings because I was on holiday, but I managed to go to the third one, where I found that the team wasn’t up to the standards I had expected. Many of the players couldn’t kick a ball to save there life, I was told this was a good club, but it seemed that was wrong.
Nevertheless I carried on training and I was ready to sign on. Then on Sunday morning 2 hours before kick off I received a phone call from the woman who ran the football club asking if I would like to play in the match, unfortunately I couldn’t as I was going shopping for a birthday present for my granddad.
When I had filled out all of my documents and had collected the money I required to join the team, I entrusted my friend with the money and he dutifully gave the money to the lady.
Then came the phone call, it was the lady from the football, I thought she must be confirming me as part of the team. But I was wrong she was ringing to tell me that I had been rejected because they had so many injuries they needed some one to sign on quickly.
I was gutted as soon as she said “unfortunately we are not able to offer you the place anymore” my heart sank, I hardly listened to the excuse, my mind was spinning, I felt sick with anger. I had almost been guaranteed a place in the team yet some how my unluckiness shone through and I was unable to get in the team.
I decided to keep my head up, as my mum said “it’s no use crying over spilt milk”. I promised myself I would have the last laugh. I’d always wanted to play for team and what would be better then playing for the rivals of the team I was rejected by.
Since I had filled out the forms previously I was able to hand them in swiftly. Once I had handed my forms in I was permitted to play for High Legh and the next game was against Grappenhall. This was my very chance to get revenge; I was geared up for it. This was my chance to show them what they had missed out on.
For the next few days I dreamt of scoring a hat-trick or stopping a goal on the line. But I was realistic as long as we won I’d be happy.
The day of ‘big game’ came I was once again nervous, but this time nothing could stop me, I knew I would be wearing my heart on my sleeve and that was dangerous, I could easily be hurt but there again I could be jumping for joy.
I didn’t play the first half, but I did come on after half-time. I was there and I was going to my best, throughout the second-half I was getting stuck in with challenges and I set up a goal. I was having a laugh with my mates at the same time as being deadly serious.
Then we had a corner, I was in the box waiting for a lethal cross into the centre. When the cross arrived I jumped up with all of my energy and nodded the ball into the back of the net. I ran off shouting and screaming with joy, as I danced around the corner flag, I was told the goal had been disallowed.
Instead of crying or being upset I just laughed, shrugged my shoulders and got on with game. That was my luck I suppose, on that day I did have the last laugh and then at the end of the season I had the last laugh when we came 4th and Grappenhall got relegated.
My friends and i talked about that game for weeks, we figured out that my goal should have been allowed but I believe it was a blessing in disguise. Form my experiences with football I realised that some unlucky things happen but it’s a just a bit of give and take.