Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1897932-Touchdown
Rated: E · Other · Sports · #1897932
Missing that magic brown projectile at the body-slam of an opposing player...
The masses cheering
Shouting, screaming
My heartbeat stops as my feet leave the ground
Fingers stretched
As the glory, the magic
Streaks nearer, nearer, nearer . . .
The ground smashes into me
The grass crushes beneath my face
My head pounds
Shoes beat past me
I moan
The crowds are gone
The noise fades away like a dream
I gather my strength and lift my face
A mob of blurry colors
So far away . . .
Voices call to me, hands grip my body
I shake my head, no -- stop -- I have to see
Just one second more
My mind spins, but there are no answers . . .
Suddenly the noise crashes in my ears
Like a tidal wave of sound
Screams, cheers, yells
People rushing back and forth, jumping, shouting
I push myself off the ground, waving away help
My soul burns with pride
The glory is not mine, but it is ours
And that is enough
For me
© Copyright 2012 The Wayfaring Dreamer (hotchocolate at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1897932-Touchdown