Article Contributed on: 5/15/2006 7:35:51 PM
Hot air rests on my neck and face. The last minutes are the hardest. I try to stay alert, watch the movement of the ball, focus on the position of the players. They rush at me with the intensity of a starving pack of lions hunting their prey. I slide to the right in anticipation. Get on your toes, on your toes, be ready! I am prepared, I know it, yet I pray it is for nothing. They approach, now it matters, I am the last line of defense. The air grows hotter, heavier. I crouch down, I am ready. Left foot first, right foot behind - like a snowboarder - back to the goal. Contain, contain, contain, do not lunge, contain. Here she is. She advances and I retreat. Foot-by-foot, inch-by-inch we play this game. Wait, she doesn't have the ball! She struck it too hard, this is my chance! An agile sweep with my foot, and I own the ball. I won this battle, but I haven't won the game, it is not over. How much time is left? I have to keep the ball, she can't have it, I need it when the whistle blows. Lunge to the left, but move to the right. I leave her standing, absorbing the reality of her fatal error. I advance up the field; my goalie shrinks in the distance. I'm at the half line, where is the whistle? Why hasn't it blown? One, two, three more touches, and there it is, the magnificent sound, like that of my favorite song, an old friend. The game is over - I have won. My shoulders are free and I can breath. The pressure is gone, an enemy that will return, eventually.