The Beautiful Game

                                                  Its just you and that thing at your feet,it defines  so much;money,happiness,respect,history,sorrow,dreams,celebration and much more.But when its just you that ball at your feet and that net it has to go past,the rush,the energy,the sudden power in your legs. THE FLASH BACK.

                                                            Little feet,big ball,the energy that came into that kick- ah!Playing in the back garden has always been so much fun.The victory run and the conviction of playing like Beckham.The imaginary crowd that stands up to applause for this legend...

                                                    Its all a dream this little mind is dreaming about.And then your older,your out having a kick about with your mates,and like in the movies it starts raining,its like the rains soaking you with courage and excitement to get that ball past that net. Your boots are struggling to hold the mud,but you run and dribble past those giant defenders and then that last kick,whooshes past the goal...''GOAL!'' scream your mates and jump onto you,convinced that you cant return home without getting soaked in mud and awaiting a furious mum. Every celebration is a different one,some are doing a flip in the air-because footballers are so cool?,some are just running about and thanking an imaginary crowd,some are the silent ones-kissing their jersey,some kneel down and thank the lord and, others are simply the unbelievable screams of joy!

                                                              After all the noise has died out,but your hearts still beating and celebrating that goal,you knock on your door and there she is,the lady who thinks catching a cold is more serious than playing the beautiful game.After a warm shower,your back into your room,every little corner covered with a footballer,the special jersey of course,and you drift back again into your little imaginary game of glory!

                                             Time flies,and then its suddenly one of the big games-not on the telly,on the real pitch.The whistle blows and it all begins with a small pass and then the others charge in like a pack of hungry wolves.And then once again the ball's,under the  boots you got for your last birthday! Its time to do the magic,to make this look beautiful,slip it behind those feet and back in front again,trick the big man and take your aim and shoot,slowly yet so quickly it flies past that little corner and into that net! And once again your jumping and screaming and running about like your the next Pele!

                                                        Its all the pain you've suffered through those bruised legs,through those heated arguments about which club deserves the cup those hundreds of games you've been playing and growing from those tiny feet,to the man whose name is being cheered by millions! It all comes back to that one kick,that moment.

                                                                Finally,its time and then with precision and power comes that kick that defines a lifetime spent playing this beautiful game.The ball flies and like those matches where you once dreamt of an imaginary crowd,it magically appears and everyone is standing up,jumping,screaming,crying in joy and you? Your just there, seeing your dream turn into a reality,and slowly sinking in,that those millions of people,share the same joy as you,for this game,the feeling that only we can get when we see that ball and do the magic,some people say that its just a game,some say its a matter of life and death,but for everyone its something different,something so uniquely special-Its the beautiful game as they call it!