Essay about lacrosse
Hi, I’m Garner. I don’t give out my name often, but I assume it’s necessary for my story. Take a moment to breathe, and begin to calm. Take a look at your surroundings, label two different colored items. Finished? Now, think of what you ate for lunch today; remember the bursting flavor of your meal. Touch your desk, feel the smooth texture it’s been given. Becoming aware of what is present around you, and opening up further your senses may not seem to be a lot, but the world of lacrosse opens up a lot. Won’t you allow me to introduce you?
I’m simple, quite so. I enjoy the smallest things in life, like taking a walk in the brisk summer breeze as the sun is intently beating down its rays upon my skin, warming me. The sweat trickling down the side of my face leaves as the trees react to the movement of the whistling wind, it’s calming. I spend most of my days indoors, which is until I’m pulled outside by Coach Brawner. That’s what begins my love for the aspects of the sport, my sport. I’m a part of a lacrosse team for my school, Bartlett High School. Our name radiates when we call, “Lady Panthers!” Bright red B’s are seen across our backs, blue uniforms comfortably fitted. We faced Rival schools often, but none seemed to give off as much energy except Arlington. This was a team who loves the sport, they put their blood sweat and tears into lacrosse. However, the look in their eyes when defeated, that’s a memory no one could beat.
It was a late Friday night, rain drizzling around the clock. The cool water had its effect, wind rushing in without remorse, clothes and hair soaked alike. It was miserable, but not enough to push down our enthusiasm for this match. The draw took place, the vivid neon yellow ball was placed between our drawers sticks. There was a pause of silence. The whistle sound, girls rushing in for possession of the ball in sync. The attack was on their feet, awaiting the chance to run. We were signaled by the ref, we were able to break off. The blood rushed through as our legs began moving. Breathing tightened, eyes focused, our heads were in the game. We were ready.
The game continued forward, subs being swapped at the fall of a player. Our coach calling plays as we rushed the goalie. The rubber beading of the field sprung in every direction at the touch of a cleat. Our goggles and mouth guards had to be tightened and reapplied often as the continuous rain beat down. Umbrellas of every shade lining the bleachers in awe, screaming and cheers bellowed throughout the stadium at out last free shot. The goalie lined up, as did our player. They eyed each other, waiting to break free at the sound of the whistle. Both teams ready to rush in, silence. Whistle. Shot. Score.
We reach the end of that game, Bartlett’s confidence higher than ever. Excitement for the rest of the season could be seen on the plentiful smiles. The Players hugged dry parents, high fiving and latching onto each other with enthusiasm. It was a night to remember, the night the Lady Panthers beat our rival. The day we became closer as a team. The time where we can say, “We did it!”.