Running down the sidelines, stomping down as a plastic shielded shin slides towards me in hopes to stealing my prized possession. Run some more. The feel of Kelme leather claiming possession of the object everyone wants, but no one will take from me...
Those days have been long gone for three years now.
I still vaguely remember my first soccer team-the Badgers-when I was six years old. We would stumble around the grass in a park near my house as we learned what it meant to kick a ball that would become my pride and joy for the next 11 years. Somehow, that summer a passion was ignited in me that would survive through elementary, middle school, and most of senior high. I played year round for most of those eras of my life, and I've lately been reminiscing about my old passion for the sport. The only sport that's ever been dear to me. Whether that be getting unbelievably close to fist fights on the field or scoring against foreign teams, it's a sport that I never tired of.
I watched the EuroCup 2008 final yesterday afternoon between Germany and Spain (Spain won!!) and I really wish there was someway to get back into the game I used to dream of going pro in. As I listened to the cheers of German and Spainish soccer fanatics in the stands, I wished that the sport had the level of respect it deserves in the United States as it does in ever other country on earth. Maybe living in Europe next semester will give me another taste of the flavor the sport has to offer, but America isn't ready to try.
Viva la Futbol!!!!
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