Personal Narrative: My 8th Grade Football Team

The Thursday night lights beamed down on me as kickoff approached. It was the last game of the 8th grade football season and the last chance to make my mark on a personally rather ordinary season. We were playing Celina, a team known to be a powerful opponent. I was on the kickoff return team, playing on the far left side of the field and on that particular night we were set to receive the kick. The referee’s whistle pierced the warm and soundless autumn air. The opposing kicked charged towards us like a stampede of animals as the kicker struck the ball. I realized the kick was an onside kick but at that moment it was too late the ball whizzed by my head; I froze, unable to think or move a crowd of players had trampled me. As I lay on the ground I played the scene over and over in my head desperately looking for some justification for my failure, and as it played in my head I

In my dazed state I was harshly awoken by a yank of my arm almost out of socket as I was pulled up. I searched for a comforting gaze from a teammate or coach something to reassure my fantasy that this was not my fault, but rather as looked at my coach my gut wrenched with disappointment as his disapproving scowl pierced my heart. I realized that this play would be my last that season, and I had forever marked my performance with a brand of failure. While on the sideline, the faces of coaches, players, and my parents occupied my thoughts and altered my reality. However as this final judgement on my performance was handed down, the cause for my failure was that I prepared for only what I anticipated. This myopic assessment of my game plan caused me to freeze with anxiety as my situation changed. I betrayed the very core of man’s survival nature that had carried him through the overwhelming trials of existence to that day and that time-adaptability. And as my