The ball was right there in front of me. The sphere, white in color, with splashes of
blue and blue, lay on the vibrant green turf, just an aching few inches from my
foot. I had to have it. I wanted to possess it with a passion that I
reserve for few things on this planet.
I was not the only person that felt this way. From my left stepped in an opponent, clad in
his black shorts and a ratty looking tee shirt that was modified with an ink
marker to have a number ‘20’ on the back of it.
I’d been struggling with this nemesis all half, and it brought a snarl
to my lips to see him coming out of nowhere to disrupt my fell plan.
Our feet went for the ball.
Both of us lusted for that ball with the same vicious intensity. The play was almost at mid-field but in my
eyes (and most likely his too, given his intensity) we equated possession of
the ball to a clear opportunity to score.
Two feet striking the ball simultaneously quite frequently
has the entirely opposite effect to that which you might expect from a
kick. If two people try to pounce on the
ball at the same time, most often the result is not movement at all. Which is what happened this time. His foot from the left, and mine from the
right, simply locked the ball in place.
Even though we were veteran soccer players, and had seen a
play like this countless times, it did not come across either of our minds that
an aggressive play on the ball like this might result in no motion at all. Our feet came together, the ball didn’t move,
and momentum that was thrown into the cauldron was forced to result in
something.
My opponent caved to the reaction of vicious motion, and no
action, first. His knee buckled under
the strain and he lost his balance.
Stumbling on onto his left knee, he fell in front of the ball and
collapsed onto his back. Rolling across
the ground in front of me, he shielded his eyes for what was coming his way.
While he gave way first, I was not long to follow him. My knee buckled at the thrust of my kick, and
its complete lack of action. I stuttered
on my feet, but all my motion was headed in the forward direction. Try as I might, I could not bring it to as an
immediate a stop as the moment required.
He lay on the ground in front of me. His roll left him on his back, and he simply
looked up at me. The look on his face
seemed to be one of expectation. Like
the result of my tumbling into him was pre-ordained.
I only had one choice.
I was going to go forward, whether I wanted to or not. There was only one hope to get out of it.
With the last whisper of an instance available to me, I
planted my foot and pushed. I’m no
acrobat but I flung myself in the air and dove for the empty ground on the far
side of my opponent. It was a last,
desperate hope but there was no other choice.
The time in the air seemed longer than it should have if I’d
been watching. I had time to think about
what could happen if I landed wrong. I
was only 1 month back from recovery from a separated shoulder. The sequence of actions I’d just put into
motion could very well take me back to the broken, and crippled state.
I landed, and the moment was incredibly soft. My weight came down squarely on the space
between my shoulders, on my back. I
rolled quickly out of the dive and was back on my feet before I could even
whisper. I’d survived the motion, no
greater injury to myself or to the opponent I’d just saved.
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