The Last Game

As I approach the field, I see you, Wearing your USA team soccer jersey, Screaming at the referees for their poor call in your British accent, While you show off your amazing soccer skills, By kicking the ball into the forest as a result of your frustration. Your head turns when you see me, A small smile brightens your face. I laugh and wave, butterflies filling my stomach. You stop the screaming, and a smug grin appears on your face. Turning around, you run back towards the boys you train, Who look to you with admiration and a desire to be just like you when they’re older. As I search for a seat amidst the crowded bleachers, I go back and forth between watching the players and watching your reactions. Your passion for soccer and the wizards boys team you coach, Is the reason why I love to come see the games. With thirteen seconds left and a score that’s tied, I see the wild gleam in your eyes. In a flash, number 15 runs to kick the ball You throw your hands above your head. I’m too consumed in watching what you’ll do, That I miss the most important part of the game Yet by the ecstatic look on your face as your eyes catch mine, I already know who won. As the final whistle blows, the ref shouts: WIZARDS WIN THE GAME!