Bose+Formal+Essay+2

Commitment and Pride I was eight the first time I ever put the heavy shoulder pads on my narrow shoulders. I felt strong and empowered. I could feel the adrenaline running through my veins as I put the cross barred helmet on my head. I got in line with all of the other players. The line blocked my view of what was happening at the front of the line. All I could hear was the loud cracking of pads. I became more and more nervous after each step I took forward. Krack! Krack! The pad popping got louder and louder until the coach called me. “Eric, it’s your turn,” the coach said. I stepped forward and took my position in the cone contained gauntlet, where there laid a football and a line. On the way to practice, my father went over all the things we had practiced. He told me to remember to stay low, run through your blocks and tackles, tackle with my pads, and the list goes on. I half listened, envisioning myself scoring and making professional style catches. I arrived at practice and suited up. The coaches directing us in stretches and when we finished the head coach blew his whistle loudly, cutting off any conversations or distractions. “Every on line up!!” he yelled. Not knowing what was going on, I naturally went to the back of the line. The loud pops and grunts alarmed me and the thuds and groans brought my previous thoughts down to Earth. Maybe I was not going to score. Maybe I was not cut out for this. Before I could think anymore it was my turn. I got in my stance as sweat started to drip down my nose, my knuckles started to whiten, my hands were shaking, and my breath was slow and shallow. There were two team mates in front of me. One stood in front of the other down in a stance. While the man in the back held the football. The coach blew the whistle as we all started running towards each other. Pop! Bang! Boom! I brought the opposing man to the ground. But then everyone started laughing at me. “Why are you guys laughing?” I asked, my face contorted by confusion. The coach chuckled. “It was a good tackle,” he said. “The problem is you tackled the blocker!” I was supposed to tackle the guy with the ball? I guess so. By the end of practice I had tears in my eyes as I got into my dads old truck. “I suck,” I whimpered. “No, you don’t,” he yelled back, “I told you it was your first day you can’t expect to be the best the first time you try something, just try your best each day, and you will see an improvement. We will never have this conversation again understand.” I nodded. When we got home the first thing my father did was go to his trunk. He pulled out a brand new football and threw it to me. It hit my hands with a smack and fell to the grass. My father told me to keep my eye on it and make a pocket with my hands. Every time I did this I’d catch it, but often I would lose concentration or be overwhelmed by the bullet like velocity and take my eye off of the ball and drop it. My father told me that we would keep practicing and it would become easier, as we went inside to watch the Redskins game. About four weeks later, the team was given positions. The coach lined us up to assign them to us. “Running back. Guard. Tackle,” he said as he went down the line. Then he got to me. His finger pointed to my chest as he said, “Linebacker.” I did not know what a linebacker did or where he was set on the field. The coach explained to me my job. He told me, basically to find the man with the ball and bring him to the ground. Through the days my skills progressed very much and I had actually managed to tackle the ball carrier occasionally, but today, occasionally was not enough. I had an assigned area and if the runner came into my zone I was told to annihilate him. At practice the runner came straight at me and I knocked him back into the backfield. He laid on the ground in shock. The coach ran up to me with excitement. “Good hit Bose! Good hit!” . This is just the encouragement I needed for the game the next day. I woke up early that morning and got all my pads on. When we arrived at the field we received our uniforms. I was number 49. The black and silver jersey glistened in the sun. We were the Raiders of the North, the grittiest of all teams. We stormed the field and stretched. We were going against the Southern Broncos. The other team looked just as good as us, maybe even better. I could feel my blood pumping through my veins. The captains ran out on to the field and won the coin toss. We were receiving. I was on the receiving team. The kick sailed and I ran towards the guy I was supposed to block. I whiffed and he got around me and made the tackle. I sat on the bench and watched the offense, disappointed with my last play. We scored. I went out on defense. Thoughts of what I was supposed to do ran through my head as I watched the center snap the ball. The quarterback tossed the ball to the running back, running the opposite direction of me. I tried to chase the back down, but he was just too fast. They scored. They continuously scored a series of times until the score was 21-7: we were losing 3 minutes left in the 4th quarter. It was time to buckle down and stop them. They had the ball. We lined up as they yelled the snap count. The quarter back did not hand off the ball, and I did not know what to do, so naturally, I ran backwards. “Pass!!! Pass!!!” the coach repeatedly yelled. Nobody ever passed before, I just kept running backwards. Then the QB threw it. It moved in slow-motion, as did I. I realized the brown spiraling ball was coming right towards me. All, I could think about was what my dad said to me. I kept hearing him in my head, “Keep your eyes on it, Keep your eyes on it,” and I did as the ball landed in my nest of warm hands. I caught an interception. I did not know what to do with it. I simply stood there stunned; staring at the ball, hoping it would give me an answer of what I was supposed to do. Everyone was yelling run, run. I snapped back into reality and that is just what I did: run. I ran for what felt like an eternity and gained about ten yards before getting tackled. I got up yelling and screaming, so excited I ran off the field and hugged my father, and then he told me to get my game face back on. So I ran back on the field triumphantly. Though we lost 21-7 that day, I was not upset because my team was proud of me, but most of all, so was my father, and so was I.