Nothing Giving

By  Deya Mhiesen, Class of 2013

     I’m on the right side of the offensive line getting down in my stance, looking my opponent in his eye. I know he’s scared, I can smell the fear. I’m itching for the pancake (put him in the dirt every play. )  My muscles are twitching, my fingers rocking back and forth. I hear the READY! GO!!!   I explode off the ball like a bomb, locking onto my opponent and put him on his ass every play. Then I do the same thing over and over again until the fat lady sings.

     Here I am on the the other side of the ball, in my three point stance watching the ball carefully as if it was my only shot to show everyone that I’m a dominate force on the D-Line. I’m feeling the sweat drip down my face, as if I was sweating bullets. The ball snapped, I rushed the tackle as if I was a raging bull, I grabbed the cloth of his jersey, locked in then ripped through away from him. I finally see the quarter back and I’m getting real happy for the sack like I just won the lottery, I blow the quarter back up as if I was a kamikaze, seeing the body jerk with ragging force feeling his body snap like a pencil. I stand up and look at him on the floor with so much pain. There he is lying on the floor looking sorry.   I looked to my left then looked to my right and said to myself,  boy it’s going to be a long night.


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