There on the field, I protect the thing that changes the game. The goal. Playing defense is not easy, with each touch of the ball being critical to our team. USM runs down the field like a herd of bulls, striking at the goal. But I keep my stick down and head up. My vision becomes clear as my nervous sweat disappears. The ball appears in my radar. I wrestle for it. I take the ball wide and hit the ball with all my force up the field, hoping USM will not stop it. The one word that repeats in my head is the thing we need to do to change history: score.
The time left in the game is disappearing. With each pass, we bring it to the top of the circle and take of hits at their goalie, but there are no goals yet. Their goalie is too quick.
They take the ball down, preparing ourselves for all their pulls and passes. We wait for them to begin, as the sweat drips onto the field. No Matter how tired we are, exhaustion change the game for us .It is our turn to win. The ball meets a teammate’s stick. This could be our chance: to Score.
Every pass meets my teammate’s sticks, as if they were magnetic. The drive is sent from the top of the circle—but is not enough. The ball lays two inches from the goal. Everything turns into slow motion now. I cannot see what’s going on in the circle, but the reaction on my coach’s face on the sideline tells it all. The look of disapproval. My teammate turns everything back to original speed, as if she was meant to do this. She touches the ball with a quick reaction into the goal—the reaction of the crowd is what tells me we have won, but I still cannot believe it: we scored.