Creative Writing: Rugby

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“Ish wake up, we’re here!” Gary says as the bus pulls over to the side. I open my eyes and -Yaaawwwwwwnnn. I’m not a morning person, especially on Saturdays. I stretch my arms and wait until I can follow everyone off the bus. Gary bounces up and down like a maniac. I guess I can’t blame him. Who wouldn’t get the jitters on a day like this? He is half my height, has a square-ish face, and has dorky smile. However, appearances can fool you. The little devil is slippery to catch and I felt bad for anyone who was going to guard him. As I stepped off the bus, I was met with an immediate blast of cold wind. Woah, it’s supposed to be hot today, it’s the middle of June! Apparently, everyone else also had the same shock as me because they were all shivering …show more content…

You have the grades and you get along with others. Rugby is a game about strategy and teamwork. It’s a gentlemen’s sport!” said Mr. Grozof as he handed me a registration form. “You also seem to enjoy whenever we play rugby during class and since this is your last year in middle school, I advise you to think carefully about …show more content…

I told him the same thing last year and the year before that. Honestly, I think he already knows my response by now. The tall six-foot man was looking at me eagerly. He was Romanian and unlike many of my previous gym teachers, he was buff. The most noticeable feature of his, in my opinion, were the gigantic calves he possessed. Not only were they immense, but you could see every vein and muscle on his leg! Mr. Grozof was right when he said that I liked rugby. In fact, I badly wanted to join the team and play for the school. Last year, the team won the New York City Championship Cup, and the golden trophy was currently standing alongside all the other Championship Cups. Yup, my school won many of the previous championship cups and was well known in the community. To me, it wasn’t about the trophy or fame. It was about that adrenaline rush and the split-second decisions that would make or break the game. I looked at the registration paper as I got in the carpool van. The maroon Chevy was decent, and I always rode shotgun so space wasn’t an issue for me. Listening to the 80s and the bickering of the underclassman behind me was the usual morning and afternoon. Sigh, I’d like to join, but I have no way to leave school after practice which ends at 5, and the carpool was the only way for me to get to school and back, I told myself. My mom fears that one day I will fall onto the tracks and that would

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