Exactly 15 minutes after the referee blew the final whistle, I found myself standing outside one of the stadium gates with a simple smile dancing on my face. I have always believed that wearing a watch on your wrists makes you waste a lot of time, and on that day, I decided to leave my phone at home. Standing outside the stadium and watching fans go their own way after the game gave me a strange feeling inside. Maybe it was because the game served its purpose or because I knew that they were coming for me. It was just a matter of time before they appeared from any direction. I had no worries. I was happy, and I wanted them to find me. Smelling the cool breeze on my face, I reached inside my back pocket and took out a blue marker pen and put it down on the ground. With a smile on my face, I stepped back away from the pen and waited. I knew that it was David the moment he touched my shoulder from behind. His cheap Mickey Mouse cologne was unmistakable. Was I going to lose my hair?
We had been waiting for the big game for 2 months. It was the kind of game that would make a fresh graduate intentionally miss his job interview or a teacher sell two of his best students in order to buy tickets for the game. My team had to win the game. As a staunch follower of my team, I have the responsibility of watching every game. I am not sure about the validity of the study, but I have heard people saying that MIT scientists have found a direct correlation between failing to watch your team’s matches and hair loss, particularly in teenagers. I chose to believe in the study; I value my hair that much. Three weeks prior to the big game, I was spending an hour on my team’ website almost every day checking to see if all the players were in good form. I...
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...considerable margin. Was my team going to win? It was impossible to tell because the other team gained momentum and almost took the lead, but might and awesomeness prevailed. However, 10 minutes before the game ended, my team was leading by 1 point. Neither of us wanted to lose the game.
While standing next to a couple outside the stadium gates, the gentleman took out his phone and called someone in order to congratulate them on winning a bet. In the home screen of the phone, I could see that it had been 15 minutes since the game ended. The lady, on the other hand, seemed to be smiling. Why did this happen to me again? With a smile on my face, I stepped away from the couple in order to prepare myself for the events that followed. I remembered that I had the blue marker pen in my back pocket. David’s Mickey Mouse cologne was unmistakable. Was I going to lose my hair?
…There was no question of celebration in the minds of the fans who invaded from the West end of the ground. They had violence in mind and no sooner was it offered than it was returned with enthusiasm. The brutal and disgusting scenes which followed as bottles flew and drunken supporters charged and counter-charged from one end of the field to that other, brought disgrace upon the two clubs concerned, upon Scottish football generally, and were an affront to Scotland as a nation (Murray 196).
I awaited the day before the big game in nervous apprehension. Would the Red Sox be able to rebound from a 0-2 series deficit and advance to face the Yankees? They had already won two straight games and evened the series at 2-2. The next game would be the do or die situation. I stylishly dressed in all of my Red Sox apparel (even the lucky red socks) and prepared for an invigorating game. Mike from the third floor came down to the first floor lounge to watch the big game. Being from Cleveland, Mike was sporting all of his Indians apparel. For the next the 3 hours Mike would be my most bitter enemy. Mike was the antichrist. We would swear at each other, hurl projectiles at each other, and possibly even have an outright brouhaha if things got out of control. In the bottom of the second inning, the Indians got 2 hits, which spawned an outrageous reaction from mike. He sprung from his seat, arms failing about, and began to do a mock Indian dance in front of me. "Sit your silly ass down," I probably yelled. Then he began to do the tomahawk chop to his fabulously clichéd rendition of an Indian chant, "Ohhhh oh oh oh Ohhhh oh oh oh." I looked up at Mike's hat. The Cleveland Indian logo goofily stared down at me.
Friday night football - the night everybody is getting ready for. I can smell the grassy field and the sweaty players. It's five o'clock and I'm getting ready for the game. Taking my time with everything and making sure everything is perfect, from every single strand of hair being in the right place to making sure there are no wrinkles in my uniform. As I look at the clock, it says 5:45, I better hurry up because I have to be at the game at 6, and I still have to pick up your friend. I hurry out the door and speed down the road. As I race down the road, I'm looking everywhere to make sure there's not a cop anywhere. I finally get to my friend's house and wait for her. She comes running out of the house and gets in my car. As I go down the road, she is still putting her make-up on, making sure it is to her perfection. Finally, we reach the football field. We run down to the field, making sure we aren't late, but by the time we get to the field, our make-up is running down our faces and our hair is frizzed up. No one is there yet, just the football player's warming up and us. There is Jock Jams playing in the background to help get the players motivated. We start warming up so that we make sure everything looks good.
...e bus and off we went. As soon as we arrived we were told that the kick off would be in ten minutes. After a quick warm up we were ready. My hands were shaking, heart pounding but I couldn’t wait to start. When the game started my nerves escaped from my head and I was focused on the match.
As I sat in my comfy theater seat, watching many people file into the Vashon Theater, I pondered the implications of this Super Bowl game. This was the most important game for any sports franchise that had any significance to me. It almost made me shiver, thinking about the joy and celebration that would occur if the Seahawks won the Super Bowl. I listened to the excited chatter all around me, impatient for the game to start, having never experienced an atmosphere so ecstatic, so energetic, so euphoric for a sporting event.
I looked through the crowd of people in my row all dressed out in their home spirit team. The bloody red color of the B spelling Boston on the jerseys with the ketchup stains on the fans shirts. Compared to the field of precisely cut grass, so green and handled with care. The sand finely grained, wetted and pearly white paint coats the sand connecting the bases together. Each base is dusted and cleaned so that even those in nosebleed seats can recognize the famous bases that get used for stealing and home runs. I watched as the players marched out on to the field with only pure testosterone that drives them. The first pitch of the game struck the catcher's mitt like a bullet; I can hear the ball whistle in the air striking the tough fibers of the leather brown mitt. It was a strike; both teams were evenly matched, this final game would decide who would win the pennant. The St. Louis Cardinals held pride being on top of their division. The game went on into overtime Both sides were exhausted with sweat rolling down their faces and adrenaline pumping. The Red Sox were the last to bat before the game would come to an
It was a bright, August day, with a temperature to match. At least 85°, sun outside was at its peak, with not a cloud to be seen for miles. Such a day is almost unheard of in southern Germany, where the weather tends to be milder year round. It was the perfect day to begin the new season, as well as my first match. I had played many games before this day – nine years’ worth in fact. However, they had all been in the United States, where football is the king of sports. Although the atmosphere was similar, there were distinct, yet almost intangible differences. Many devoted soccer fans do exist in the United States, but the aura at many matches seems to be rather lackluster. Many of those present appear to be disinterested, and it is rarer to see a full venue than in Europe. The set up and division of the sport alone set itself apart from the US. Schools do not have sports teams, only clubs and cities do. Most of the players had been with the same coach and team members since they...
The horn blew and the game started, Dedham won the face off and is running down the field at a faster pace than I was used to. They shot the ball! I couldn’t move my stick quick enough to save it, so I threw my body in front of it and got hit right in the shoulder. It hurt a lot, but what I hadn’t realized was that it hit my shoulder and reflected ten feet away from the net where my player caught it and ran down the field and scored. The other team didn’t know what hit them. It was the half now and the score was three to nothing in our favor. Our couch told us that we needed to keep up the good work.
So, another inning flies by and each pitch I'm learning more and more about the game not only the rules but who each player is how they stand when they bat and when they field the ball. It was fun watching the game but what was even better was getting closer to my dad and being able to talk about each play and which player was playing that good that day and which player was struggling, it was just another thing we could talk about. The 7th inning came around and everyone stood and "Take me out to the Ball Game" I just fell in love with song and the people dancing and singing every word. After the song was over everyone sat down at the same time you could hear all the seats being sat in. The game resumed and it said the same score 1-0 the rest of them game. I could tell that some fans were losing interest because the game was so slow, but I was not I was so into the game and I tried to learn as much I could and I did. When the game officially ended fireworks went off and they were as loud as could be and I could hear all the players screaming and high fiving it was a great experience all together for not only me but for my father as
The time on the clock was 4:30 when the doorbell rang, fifteen minutes early. My three teamates were extremely anxious to get to the Center. I opened the front door and to my surprise the whole team was outside in their cars. They were all spiffed up in their shirts and ties, determined to win the game. As I threw my equipment in my friends car I was hoping that the next time I put it in there I would have a championship medal hanging around my neck.
One one thousand. The stands are filled with men, women, and children waving their hands and homemade signs. The cheers coming from the crowd make it hard for me to hear. I smell the hot dogs, popcorn, and pizza being sold at the concession stand. The marching band has just left the field with the tuba player’s last note still ringing in my ear. In the fourth quarter with us in the lead by five the scoreboard shows six seconds. The coach yells, “It’s time to go”! I strap on my helmet with great enthusiasm and head towards the field to take my position.
The moment had finally arrived, we were about to enter the newly built stadium. As we approached the entrance, there was a small line of people waiting their turn to be frisked. While waiting in line, I noticed that there were certain things not allowed into the stadium for safety reasons. One lady had a large chain that resembled a dog chain in her pocket. The guard told her to take it back to her car or throw it in the trash. When the lady threw her chain in the trash I realized how devoted some of these fans really were. I thought to myself," maybe I'm not as big of fan as I thought," and continued through the gates. After our entire group got through security we had to separate, due to the different seating assignments.
The misty damp air gave us the impression that our game could be postponed or at least maybe a game where we would be drenched with other liquids than sweat. The building where we spent the time before the game was filled with the smell of hot dogs and hamburgers. The people preparing them watched us in the thought that we would feel defeat. It put an awkward silence in the room. We were there to prove them wrong and that is what we planned to do. As we got closer to game time the building seemed to fill more with these people who had doubt in us.
It was my first football game. I never considered myself a big football person--I used to think football wasn’t for me. I’d always been a timid, gentle person, who didn’t seem to possess the qualities a football player should have; I wasn’t very competitive, or aggressive, or intimidating. Yet, although I knew I didn’t represent the average football player, I felt in this moment as if I were one. All of my attention was on one thing--walking out of this stadium celebrating a win with my teammates.
Though he had already stopped playing football after his teary high school graduation ceremony, I still wished he could resume his football career. When I was small, I repeatedly waited for him at the front door of his school while stretching hard to reach my dad’s big and balmy hands. He was already the leading player in the school’s football team, and had played at the position center-forward while being fully enclosed by his opponents. Nevertheless, even in these worse situations in the matches, he could still drag the ball to his teammates like a meandering snake. After the training that day, we were invited to the match by the enthusiastic coach with his large lively hands. Though sitting in the farthest seat to the pitch, I could still feel the current of passion rushing from every player on the field towards me, which left me infected with more desire to crush the rival. I detected him on the green sea filled with white clothing by searching for the zebra-like cuff he wears in every match he has attended. He seems to be dedicated to many beliefs I had never thought of before. “For me, this cuff is a symbol of my sweat I sprinkled for this one game. This faith will follow me to finish this game, and every other game.” The words had appeared on a luminous morning in his apartment before the match. The harsh wind sliced his dense and thick hair backwards into few scattered pieces while his eyes still gazed at me like a leopard waiting for his