Belonging – The Final Match

The rumbling roar echoes in the hearts of all spectators, a mutual sense of community that combines rivalling nations together in harmony. The pounding of battle drums sound in the mind of all in the arena, lifting the morale and strength of all of the warriors, yet the weight of expectations were crushing me into the soil – making each breath a burden on my body. Fully aware the next 90 minutes would determine the rest of my career, I tied my shoes anxiously and approached the field with great hesitance and lined the pitch ready for the commencement of the game. The reverberation of the words “90 minutes” resonated strongly in all of my teammates as the sudden realisation of a grand final victory was attainable.

The flashes of cameras filled the stadium with incandescent light, filling the insecurities of heading straight into a black hole – a soccer match. As the opposition walked fearlessly from the tunnel, we huddled with camaraderie and companionship that illuminated the tight bond we all shared as teammates. Coach Bombay made it evident of the incentives that followed a grand final victory, but he also made it clear of the consequences of failure. “If you lose this match, don’t bother coming back next year, and that goes for all of you”. I remember that moment vividly. He gazed at me accusingly as if he already knew were going to lose. These teammates are like brothers to me, and when I’m with them I always felt at home. I couldn’t imagine not playing alongside them for the years to come like Coach so curiously suggested. But that was 12 years ago. Things are different now.

The whistle blew. Shivers ran down my spine ferociously while the crowd persistently shouted my name in pure admiration. The ball travelled elegantly in my direction as I cushion it with my feet like a mother to her newborn baby. As I glance upwards towards the opposition scrutinisingly, someone galloped viciously at me. With a cruel expression draped across his face and his towering physique blocking all light emanating from inside the arena, he began to slide at my legs. With almost no time at all to react, I closed my eyes as the impact threw me off my feet and caused me to land on my back unable to move, paralysed. I was a cockroach that had just been sprayed by Mortein. The pain vibrated my entire body as a laid screaming on that grass. The echoes in the crowd grew dim. Silence. It was as if time stood still for a brief moment before the realisation resonated in my mind.

Needless-to-say, captain-less and down in morale within the first minute, the team went on to lose that grand-final match. Professionals diagnosed a torn interior cruciate ligament and with that my short-lived career was over. After the reconstructive surgery, I tried to contact my friends, but to no avail. My deathly cries fell on deaf ears and I felt immediately exiled from these so called “friends”. To my disbelief, I began to realise that I wasn’t at home when I was accompanied by my teammates, but I felt more segregated than ever. Coach was right when he said if we lose we won’t come back that following year. But I don’t think even he prophesized it was my final match.

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