english descriptive essay- The Match

The Match – Descriptive Writing

All of us were extremely excited because of this match. It was the most important one we somehow had win. We had waited for it for eight months, which we spent with rigorous training knowing that the tournament would not be easy. This tournament was the real test of my soccer skills. Tiny, but sharp needles of rain drops were falling on us as we were running towards our transport vehicle with our heavy kit bags and studs* which were making us slip on the wet and shiny grass. The fresh smell of rain mixed with soil was tangling my nose but I had to move on to win my match and take a further step in my dream of becoming the best soccer player.

The rusted fifteen seat bus was bouncing along the tattered road to the famous Shackshire stadium where our most important soccer match was to be held. Whoosh was the sound of our small bus’ dented wheels as it drove at a high speed over the newly formed rain puddles. This was the only sound heard as all the eleven players, one disinterested manager, our coach and five hired cheerleaders were still, making the over packed bus feel like a silent funeral. Sweat was dripping down everyone’s forehead which was making our already wet blue and white jersey even wetter and smellier. The jersey was of our soccer club, SwordFeet with club logo of an old shiny sword through a football, it was a little immature but it gave us all our inspiration. The cloth of the jersey was rough and was causing rashes as it was constantly eroding my skin because of being wet. The 20 kilometer road strip seemed unending with dried out trees and filthy, smelly swamps along side. Though the stadium was famous, it did not have appropriate and accessible travel route making it completely isolated from the Shire (a well known city in iceberg town).

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All the other matches this season were not at all important but this one. It was against the ruthless BahamaBoyz. This club had earned the reputation of tearing their opponents’ limbs and emerging victorious using notorious means. It was a blood-bath if anyone tried to argue and we having all average built, 5 feet 4 inch players did not have the guts to do it. We reached the ever famous shackshire stadium. Each of us stepping down the ramshackle step of the bus and popping our head out in that speck of sunlight coming from behind the silver lining of the huge blue cloud. We were pot there like warriors, each with a practice football in our left hand and a napkin dripping with sweat in our right, a backpack and the buoyancy to win. We were ready for the battle.

We entered through those bent gates with a statue of a bull on both sides and a fountain with a sculpture in the middle as one of those demons from a roman myth. This place was more of a graveyard than a soccer field. Our interpretation of the place changed as we entered the main gate and into the field. “Awesome”, “Brilliant” and “Wicked” were the few whispered comments. The field was thrice as big as our home-ground and had stands, food-stalls and an electronic scoreboard exactly like the professional ones on which my favorite club, Manchester United plays, only difference being that those fields are filled with screaming, cheerful crowds while the stands here were vacant with nothing else but a swarm of dreadful honey bees and a pair of brownish green frogs. Splat, the coach whipped my back with his belt. “It is high time you start practice, eh? Boy” said the coach. Now this guy was another exasperating creature and I had no intention of listening to him but I had to, only because I wanted to make my team win and being a forward I had to score the goals therefore needed most practice.

I started off with the warm ups. I was running around 4 red cones for about an hour. I was so exhausted and my legs were aching awfully. How would I play the match now? But I think that warm up did help. I was now tired but more confident. A break of 10 minutes and an energy drink would bring me back to normal. I then went on to practice the passes, lobs and shots. Shooting was a difficult and a tricky technique though seemed simple. The correct power, angle and the time was what was needed for that perfect shot. Even world famous soccer player Maradona could not always be accurate, I being an amateur. I kept the ball on the white line drawn of chalk and focused on the bottom section of the football. I went back 5 steps and at an approximate angle of 45 degrees to the left. I hopped towards the ball and shooting with out-step (outer side of foot) kicked the ball as hard as I could. I missed. I knew it that I should not have kicked so hard but this was practice and I could improve myself only here.

“The BahamaBoyz have arrived” screamed a player of my team. Those guys were all of heavy built and easily 6 footers. I missing my first shot and the built of these guys sent a chill down my back. The match referee was also there with the pack of yellow and red cards along with a diary, notebook and a whistle hung around his neck.

All of us took our positions as decided (3 forwards 2 mid fielders, 5 defenders and one goalkeeper making it a total of eleven players) as the referee walked towards us and shouted “let this be a fair game”. As soon as he said that the captain of BahamaBoyz had that evil smirk on his pimpled face and two of his broken teeth were easily visible. It was raining since a long time but the sudden thud of lightning shook all of us except for those eleven BahamaBoyz. They were rock solid and expressionless but surely were making plans to lynch us all. The referee blew his whistle loud and clear and all of us three forwards charged towards the ball. The hulk shoulder tackled me right in the beginning and I flew past the ball straight into the dirty puddle of water. Sweat mixed with dew on the grass made the mud stick to my jersey. I was pulled up by my coach as he said “no problem sonny, but you can do better”. I was so frustrated, one could see it in my red eyes and my popped out veins. The referee too had been bribed by the BahamaBoyz and did not give us that foul. We did not give up and lose our self confidence as we knew that we could win.

We put our heart and souls to win but it resulted to a draw at the end and the match went into penalties. Five penalties were to be taken by each team. Both the teams finished 4 of their penalties and BahamaBoyz were to take their last one. It was their best kick taker. He charged towards the ball and all of us with our eyes shut and fingers crossed hoping that he missed it. And Yes! He had missed it. His face was red with fury and his fist tightly held, he punched the ground in frustration. It was now my chance to take the penalty. I was so sure that I would miss it. Taking 5 steps back and tying my shoelaces I stood up. I charged towards the ball and kicked it as hard as I could. The ball swung with the monsoon wind and all the eyes were on the ball. Rain droplets now dropping even harder and faster than before and the ball slammed with a hard blow on the top metal bar of the goal post and right in it was. “Excellent Shot” was every ones compliment. BahamaBoyz had such a terrible expression and their coach was also down on the ground with both his hands on his face. Tiny tear droplets were running down his face but my coach was going insane. He had the tournament cup and the prize money.

Everything was perfect when I made the biggest mistake of my life. I shouted out abuses to the captain of BahamaBoyz, which stung him real hard and he ran towards me and with his baseball bat. It was a spur of the moment reaction and I was totally unprepared for it. He hurled the baseball bat towards me. The baseball bat was in the air, cutting through the wind. It hit me hard on my right shattering it and my dream of becoming the best soccer player ever. The shin was completely shattered internally as I was picked up by my teammates as we entered the broken bus. I was in unbearable pain as we drove by the Bahamaboyz hoping to never ever see those ugly faces ever again. This was the match, the one important match of my life which marked itself in the pages of my life history as I could never play soccer ever again in my life.

Word Count- 1548