On a crisp morning in mid-May, I had made a resolve to a dominant my first game after a whole year. Waking up that morning, my past failures flashed in front of my eyes, losing a championship in my last game. Yet I was a new man. For one whole year, I was itching for the opportunity to prove myself, and my heart pounded with adrenaline. My determination to succeed only grew knowing that I’d be playing alongside a lot of my former teammates, against one of the worst teams in the league. Leading up to the game, I boasted to my team, warning them of the great performance that was about to ensue. Macbeth’s ego was not far off from my own, and I almost knew with certainty that I’d succeed. Thirty minutes later, I hold the ball for the first time in a year. At the top of my run-up, I’m steaming in, and the ball is off the mark and smashed out of the park. I continued to bowl at an unquestionably slow and lethargic pace. The ball would pitch in every breadth of the pitch, excluding the good ones. Once the first innings ended, I had put up the worst bowling performance of my life and knew that I had to bat with every sliver of energy within me to live up to the boastful claims I had made. The spotlight began shining on me once again, as a spew of presumptuous claims left my mouth. My self-esteem was almost becoming corrosive. In quick time my feet led me to the crease, and only half a minute later, my ambitions quickly tumbled down. Getting out off the first ball I played, strutting back off the field. Similar to Macbeth, my extravagant ambitions were laid to rest by my equally dominating egotistical
On a crisp morning in mid-May, I had made a resolve to a dominant my first game after a whole year. Waking up that morning, my past failures flashed in front of my eyes, losing a championship in my last game. Yet I was a new man. For one whole year, I was itching for the opportunity to prove myself, and my heart pounded with adrenaline. My determination to succeed only grew knowing that I’d be playing alongside a lot of my former teammates, against one of the worst teams in the league. Leading up to the game, I boasted to my team, warning them of the great performance that was about to ensue. Macbeth’s ego was not far off from my own, and I almost knew with certainty that I’d succeed. Thirty minutes later, I hold the ball for the first time in a year. At the top of my run-up, I’m steaming in, and the ball is off the mark and smashed out of the park. I continued to bowl at an unquestionably slow and lethargic pace. The ball would pitch in every breadth of the pitch, excluding the good ones. Once the first innings ended, I had put up the worst bowling performance of my life and knew that I had to bat with every sliver of energy within me to live up to the boastful claims I had made. The spotlight began shining on me once again, as a spew of presumptuous claims left my mouth. My self-esteem was almost becoming corrosive. In quick time my feet led me to the crease, and only half a minute later, my ambitions quickly tumbled down. Getting out off the first ball I played, strutting back off the field. Similar to Macbeth, my extravagant ambitions were laid to rest by my equally dominating egotistical