2025-02-03, 06:58 AM - Word count: 334
Thump, thump, thump, Minjeong could feel her heart pumping, heavy beats pulsing as she waited, thump, thump thump. She wasn’t a stranger to the cameras, the lights, the roar of adulation, the quiet moments of calm between waves of sound and the rush of activity that came with being in the public eye, with performing on the stage, but this was different, this time she was among the crowd, and the final game of WSFC Group C was about to begin.
The Pyrenees crowd chanted and cheered as their heroes walked off the pitch victorious, a living mosaic of colourful flags waved in the stands as they burst past Team Asia in the group stages of the WSFC and sung their songs. The picture was stuck in Minjeong’s head, the defeated heads of the Asian players as they slunk down the tunnel to their locker-room, World Cup dreams dashed upon the strong rocks of the Pyrenees. The match had been… lopsided to say the least, defenders, strikers, and midfielders alike unable to get anything going, to win challenges. A pair of shots, curled not quite far enough, struck wide past the posts; the closest the Asian squad had to any chance replayed themselves in her mind.
What could they have done? She wondered, resting her head against the cool glass of the car window as the taxi wove its way through the cyclists and pedestrians of Mata-Utu. Even if the pair of shots had made their way in, it wouldn’t have been enough to get them through. No, the team needed something more, something else to get them over that push for the World Cup. She imagined striking the ball, becoming a target to actually push the ball to, someone that would hit those shots, and the team to rely on to score that third, the equalizer. If not her, who? And why not her? I’m sure I’ve got a pair of cleats in the closet somewhere.
The Pyrenees crowd chanted and cheered as their heroes walked off the pitch victorious, a living mosaic of colourful flags waved in the stands as they burst past Team Asia in the group stages of the WSFC and sung their songs. The picture was stuck in Minjeong’s head, the defeated heads of the Asian players as they slunk down the tunnel to their locker-room, World Cup dreams dashed upon the strong rocks of the Pyrenees. The match had been… lopsided to say the least, defenders, strikers, and midfielders alike unable to get anything going, to win challenges. A pair of shots, curled not quite far enough, struck wide past the posts; the closest the Asian squad had to any chance replayed themselves in her mind.
What could they have done? She wondered, resting her head against the cool glass of the car window as the taxi wove its way through the cyclists and pedestrians of Mata-Utu. Even if the pair of shots had made their way in, it wouldn’t have been enough to get them through. No, the team needed something more, something else to get them over that push for the World Cup. She imagined striking the ball, becoming a target to actually push the ball to, someone that would hit those shots, and the team to rely on to score that third, the equalizer. If not her, who? And why not her? I’m sure I’ve got a pair of cleats in the closet somewhere.
