Personal Narrative: Becoming A Soccer Player

When I was six years old my favorite sport was basketball. I played it every chance I got whether it was with my friends or by myself. My dad, however, was an avid soccer fan. He was always there on the couch, on Saturday evenings, cheering on his favorite teams with a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other, flipping channels from one soccer game to the next. When I turned seven, I was given an opportunity to pick a sport that I would then play on a little league team. I, of course, chose basketball as my sport of choice. My dad, on the other hand, had visions of me becoming a soccer star. So, without my knowledge, he placed me on a little league soccer team. The feeling that coursed through my body when I realized that we had arrived at a soccer field

The thought was enough to make my seven year old self burst into tears. I was told “give it a try, you might end up enjoying it!”, and I did give it a try, and although I loved my team mates, I had no real passion for the sport. That and I highly disliked my coach. My soccer coach was a huge man, about 6’1”, and looked straight out of a Men’s Health magazine. He was constantly yelling, drilling us until none of us could go anymore, and although we did everything he asked us to and more, he was never satisfied. We had a relatively good season, winning most of our games, and as little league seasons normally go we ended with a tournament, and at the end of the tournament we would play for the “Championship title”. I was so pumped to be finally reaching the end of the season that I vowed to do my very best during this last game. We were nearly the final minutes of the last game and I found myself with possession of the ball. I started to run as fast as I could towards the goal. All I could hear was the wind and the distant cries of my teammates calling my name. The opposing team was smiling and trailing behind me as I made my way towards the