David and Goliath: Without God
Spring. I gaze out into the dreary weather, feeling the damp grass beneath my soccer cleats. I glance across the field, eyeing the other team; bigger, stronger, better. My team, an exhausted, wet mess, huddles around our coach. He says something, but I don’t hear it. My heart, drowning my coach out, becomes independent; beating faster and faster.
“... we’re almost there. We almost have it. Just a penalty shootout!” My coach’s confident voice comes to me suddenly over the sound of the rain, the cheering parents, my heart. From the other side of the field, the other team roars with confidence. Our team gives a pitiful shout in response to the other team. We clap our hands, stomp our feet; we shout our lungs out. But beneath all the “bravado,” our eyes betray our true feelings. The clouded look of disheartenment in my teammate's eyes. Our team, a ragtag group of friends from 1st grade who played …show more content…
One of my teammates had already missed, passing the ball to the goalie. A shiver travels down my back. The referee gives me an apathetic look as he hands me the ball. I hold the ball in my hands, weighing it.
“Which corner?” I thought. I nestled the ball into the white circle. Top right. I take three steps back. Top right. I run towards the ball. Top right. I strike the ball, dirt flying off my cleats. Top right. I watch the ball fly, almost in slow motion, towards the goal. I look in disdain as the ball flies straight towards the center of the netting. A metallic clang rings through the air and my heart, a beating snare drum, sinks. The ball flies over, and the other team celebrates.
I slowly walk back to my team in a stupor. Shame and embarrassment wash over me when I see my teammates crestfallen faces. I stand there praying that the other team will miss, that they will cover up my mistake. But I am reminded of their cool-headed disposition when the familiar sound of the ball swishing against net rings through the
Spring. I gaze out into the dreary weather, feeling the damp grass beneath my soccer cleats. I glance across the field, eyeing the other team; bigger, stronger, better. My team, an exhausted, wet mess, huddles around our coach. He says something, but I don’t hear it. My heart, drowning my coach out, becomes independent; beating faster and faster.
“... we’re almost there. We almost have it. Just a penalty shootout!” My coach’s confident voice comes to me suddenly over the sound of the rain, the cheering parents, my heart. From the other side of the field, the other team roars with confidence. Our team gives a pitiful shout in response to the other team. We clap our hands, stomp our feet; we shout our lungs out. But beneath all the “bravado,” our eyes betray our true feelings. The clouded look of disheartenment in my teammate's eyes. Our team, a ragtag group of friends from 1st grade who played …show more content…
One of my teammates had already missed, passing the ball to the goalie. A shiver travels down my back. The referee gives me an apathetic look as he hands me the ball. I hold the ball in my hands, weighing it.
“Which corner?” I thought. I nestled the ball into the white circle. Top right. I take three steps back. Top right. I run towards the ball. Top right. I strike the ball, dirt flying off my cleats. Top right. I watch the ball fly, almost in slow motion, towards the goal. I look in disdain as the ball flies straight towards the center of the netting. A metallic clang rings through the air and my heart, a beating snare drum, sinks. The ball flies over, and the other team celebrates.
I slowly walk back to my team in a stupor. Shame and embarrassment wash over me when I see my teammates crestfallen faces. I stand there praying that the other team will miss, that they will cover up my mistake. But I am reminded of their cool-headed disposition when the familiar sound of the ball swishing against net rings through the