Stories of the Short Type

The Perfect Shot

Whistles blow, the clock stops, and an eerie silence falls over the stadium as Coach rushes out to our fallen senior. All hear her pain-filled cries as she is carried off the field of the tied state championship soccer game. 

She was our top scorer and center forward, but she could not continue due to the personal foul of the opposing team's center defender. Our hopes were crushed when she painfully, with tears in her eyes, said, "I can't play."

Five minutes remained on the clock as Coach tried to decide what to do. She tried to rearrange us giving us a chance to score, but it weakened the defense too greatly. We had no chance against the highest scoring team in the state without our defense.

"We can try and hold them off until we go into a shoot out," Coach offered.

"But who will take the shots? We have trouble with penalty kicks," our right forward stated. 

Heads turned to me as we stood in the huddle. "But I need to stay in the goal," I told them. I am a goalie by training, the last line of defense, the best goalie on the team by far for just being a sophomore. Then again I had a pretty nice shot on goal. I just could not risk leaving my goal in someone else's hands. 

"She's right," Coach said. "Let's try to hold them." 

We ran back on the field and the intense play continued as the other team took the starting kick. Time ticked down as each team battled to gain an advantage. As the game wore on, both teams started to become tired, and the opposing team made a break with the ball against my defense.

Seeing their error, my center defender tried a last-ditch effort to try and save the on coming shot with a slide tackle in the outer goal box.

The slide tackle knocked the ball away but also took the rival offender down too. The whistle blew again and up went a yellow card. "Penalty kick!" the referee yelled.

The two girls frustratingly untangled themselves, the red and blue jerseys separating. Both crowds yelled and screamed about the call: my fans against it; the rival stands all for it. 

The center referee lined up the ball on the penalty line inside of the goal box. The tackled player and both teams lined up for the kick, and my defender gave me a sorry look. She knew that the pressure was all on me and it was all her fault.

"Ok, on my whistle," he said putting the whistle to his lips. 

My heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through my system, and the deafening roar of the crowd pounded in my ears. I took a deep breath and readied myself for the kick. The whistle blew and I watched my opponent as she began to kick. Her eyes gave her away. She kicked to my right, but I had read her decision before she had even made contact with the ball.

I dove through the air grasping the ball in my gloved hands, and I landed skidding a little in the grass of the goal box. The crowd went wild as I stood up with the saved ball in hand.

Coach yelled and pointed to the scoreboard. There was only a minute left when I looked back at coach who was pointing now at the opposing team's goal.

I punted the ball with all my might to my right offender who stood on the midfield line. Then I made my move. I sprinted up the field, still in my goalie gloves and jersey, and retrieved the ball. I dribbled around a few of the blue shirted girls, passed the ball, and then received the ball again dribbling to the outer goal box.

Then I heard all at once, "Shoot it! Stop her!" and then the crowd started the ten-second countdown.

Still running with the ball, I beat out the final defender and took the shot. The crowd fell hushed as the ball took to the air. It flew up to the left hand corner out of reach of the diving goalie and into the back of the net as the final buzzer rang a second later. I turned to look at the scoreboard. Home: 2 Visitors: 1, and then my teammates dog piled me. Against all odds, we were the new state champs.