I like to write and hence i try my best to do my best writing even if people think it might not be the best that they have read or be among the best they rank as the best.

And as the rain came pouring down, you'd start to think that maybe. Just maybe it was gonna be his day. Barely a minute into the game, and the heavens decided to turn on the water mains. But it was good for the young man, he felt tireless, infinite, like he was before. That lasted for exactly 8 minutes before he tired out. He'd get the ball try a thing or two, lose the ball and not run for it no more. He'd look up from time to time, but find his possession stolen. He would run when it was not necessarily called for, and not run fast enough when the time was more than important. This was him now as he felt the weight each time he ran, and each time his boots trudged the muds and grass, each time he fell to the ground. Each time he stopped. His teammates would make that clear. Telling him he ran too slow, that he got fat, round, That he should have passed instead of trying to run the play. And for 5 whole seconds, he wanted to give up because trust me in that rain, he would just lay in the mud and sleep it away, hoping he'd wake up the next day and remember nothing about yesterday. Because for some reason, we were always safer in tomorrow. In the midst of the game, with the showers constantly falling upon him, his teammates were a blur. Their shouts were a blur. His game was a blur. His identity as a player? Very much uncertain.  First half drew to a close with him playing possibly, the worst game of his life.