We all jog quickly around the field, spraying mud everywhere. It thoroughly coats our cleats and socks, shooting up behind us onto each other. Our cleats pound to the ground like the drums of a tribal dance, beating out a rhythm. Finally the beat ceases and we drop into a lunge, stretching our legs. We continue stretching until we finish our warm-ups and our muscles are limber. We jog back to our coach and he points out the flaws and good points of the opposing team, advising us on our technique. He shows us on his notepad the formation we would be taking and lists the starting players. I was assigned left wing and so, with a sigh, I trot to my spot, resigned to a long game of running.

A toss of a coin and the ball is ours. I tense my muscles and prepare to take off. The whistle is blown and there is a blur of motion. The ball is passed ahead and I shot forward. From one teammate to another the ball is passed, then to me. I shoot down the side of the field; a pass to my fellow teammate to my right, who passes back to me. I take the shot and swish! The ball flies past the goalie and into the corner of the goal.

The other team starts with the ball and they head down to our defense side of the field. However, they don’t make it far and it heads into their portion of the field again. Another shot and another goal. The crowd cheers its approval. Another whistle blow and the opposing team starts off again with the ball, passing it down the field towards my team’s goal. They take the shot and they score. I feel a sinking feeling, but it goes away as we get the ball. And so the game continues on.

Finally, I ask the referee who is loping beside me how much time is left. “30 seconds,” he replies. I am exhausted and just about dead on my feet. As if in the distance, I hear a faint whistle being blow. A penalty kick is called in favor of my team and I was chosen for the shot. I jog up to the ball, which was placed ever so carefully by the referee. I glance behind me at my teammates and see them all watching me anxiously. I have their chance of winning sitting before me. A goal would mean that we would win the championships and score the trophy, an honor which we have never succeeded in winning before.

I look up at the goal, judging the aim and power for my kick. Left upper corner, I decide, and back up a few steps. I look up again, then back at the ball. I stride forward with all of my remaining energy and kick the ball as hard as I can. It goes sailing through the air as if in slow motion and I see it spin directly in the direction I intended. I stare as the ball slips through the goalies fingers and into the corner of the goal. The sound I hear as the ball hits the back of the net is the best sound I have ever heard and it seems to drown out the roaring from the crowd.

I am bombarded with hugs from my team and they all congratulate me on my shot. I am numb, still almost unable to believe that I did it. I scored the winning goal! We go back to the game for the last half a minute. We are exuberant and we almost manage to fit in one last goal before the sharp blast from the whistle signals our end. The game is over and we won!