Pine Richland Descriptive Writing

The gut-wrenching screech of the whistle shook my ear drums, numbed my chest, and crippled my legs. Prior to this, Pine Richland had kicked a field goal that gave them a three point lead with only seconds left. We had one play to win: a kickoff return to hopefully save not only our season, but to justify the twelve years I had devoted to this game. As the ball was hopping down the field, I stood there trying to stop my hands from frantically shaking. After what felt like an hour, I could finally feel the pigskin leather on my fingertips. I looked up to see the other team stampeding down the field straight for my head. I had to get rid of the ball. To my right, my sweat-soaked teammates had steam rising from the top of their heads and surrounding their bodies. As I threw the ball, the blurred roar of the crowd chilled my bones. I began to run and target an enemy to hit. Inches from me, a white jersey trailed only feet behind my ball-toting teammate; I was a heat-seeking missile and my target was getting warmer. Our bones crunched as our bodies collided. His mouthpiece, accompanied by saliva and mucus, flew from his mouth as his head jerked back from the blow. It was as that white jersey whimpered in pain
In the distance, a roar of the opposing crowd commenced as the band began to shout their fight song. The white jerseys swarmed together to celebrate, while faint shadows walked up the home stands and to their cars in disappointment. The pit in my stomach only got bigger as I thought about all that I had given this game whether it was the grueling track workouts every summer, the demanding practices, or the strenuous nine months of rehab I went through just to strap up my helmet again. It was at this moment - as the salty taste of my sweat and tears dripped into my mouth - that I knew how much I loved this game and how much I would miss everything about