When the Ball hit the Pitch!

He reached there with a dream, and if anything, his last screaming kicks with the team flooded his dreams. The team, he had learn to play with, the only team he could play with and be injured for. He had lived with the dream and he had prepared to let everything in for that. He looked up and he found solace, for he had his favorite player of his dreams in his very team. If Real had a Sergio Ramos, we sure had one who could lift us from any situation, score goals, defend, give life (Even take one) each time he touched the ground. He knew he had to support his Ramos this time with his life.

The first thing he did after he threw his bags to the corner of an allotted hall- check out the pitch. He gulped down his own disappointment. Rollers! Bulldozers! Not a single blade of grass! To couple the woes, the ball was bouncing too alarmingly and the flanks were pebbled with concrete! He was promised match under floodlights- he for sure had the match under floodlights. Suddenly he found others claiming nonchalantly about the pitch, that the dream fever gripped him on. The team hurried through the opening ceremony for they had been scheduled for the third match of the night. He stayed back with Ramos to watch the first half of the first match. Teams looked good, competent but scoring goals looked a herculean tasks given the pace and bounce of the pitch! Nonetheless they managed to sneak one in.

He had a few silent words with Ramos, who like all great leaders had the uncanny knack of motivating with right words. I shall remember those words forever. “You might loose a tackle, look foolish but the collective foolishness of this sort would invoke anxiety in any team”. So sure was he with his football spikes that he needed the ball and the team to melt under his welt. He let out the fears, for he only had place to fill himself with passion. He went into the game, egging others to shed the side talks.

He started with his customary left flank, defending and assisting the mid fielders। Patrolling back and forth, looking up to Ramos for the inspiration-for the geniuses। They had tackled well, defenders sold their sweats and the forwards pushed for inches in the uncontrollable twitching field. Meanwhile goalkeeper grabbed a brilliant save to spur the team on. He had by now moved to the midfield to assist Ramos and let all others to blink their tries at the goals. It was not coming. Alas! Luck isn’t a non existent quantity! It was not to be his day!

He stepped unto take his penalty with the score line reading 2-3, he had his vision and bartered his luck. He netted it in and fervently hoped that at least the luck can’t turn a blind eye now. He was wrong. He lost. His team lost. The team he was playing for the final time in a tournament. He was devastated. Perhaps, he should have dreamt about luck and luck solely!