“He’s such a sweet boy, where did that come from?” My mom stood in amazement as seven of the boys sprinted across the soccer field. We were up five-zero, and were scaring Yardley’s players half to death. The game was starting to turn into a violent battle, as the opposing team began to panic. Jarrett had received a penalty as he took out a boy that had sent him into a fit of anger.
“I’ll be here all day!” were the last words out of his mouth, and the whistle was immediately blown. Only ten years old, and my brothers teammates were the kids to beat. My dad, the head coach of the team, half chuckled but firmly yelled to Jarrett to “get his head into the game”.
“You know how he can get when he’s playing soccer,” Jarett’s dad responded, “it’s like he’s in this whole other world.” The soccer ball went flying to our goal, almost making it past my brother, when he booted it to the other side of the field.
“Go THUNDERFOOT!” My friend Missy and I yelled. I watched in amazement as the team that I loved to watch the most beat their rival. The Valley Storm (they got their name from my dog) weren’t the most skilled players in the league, but the love for the game and the heart that they played with allowed them to soar over the others effortlessly. These were the same boys you would see at a tournament in the middle of October, kicking soccer balls around in the pouring rain while other teams were sitting quietly under shelter preparing for the games ahead. They knew how to have fun, and to show how much the game meant to them. They didn’t need to practice often, yet every practice that was scheduled there was not a missing person on the roster. Our team had an edge to them that others didn’t. It wasn’t a bad edge; they were all great kids with great manners and were great friends. However they knew that if they didn’t play well, they wouldn’t only disappoint themselves, and their teammates, but their fans as well.
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