“Anthony Palumboooooo!” The announcer’s booming voice projected throughout the stadium. It was finally my chance; it was my opportunity to show the team I was ready. I made my way out to midfield where the refs stood with their fists out. My arms lock at my side as I jog by each one and give them a double fist pound. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck. Each one gives me a smile and a slight nod. Soon the rest of the starters join me.

         The huddle is where it all begins. The huddle is where I forget about everything that happened earlier that day. Here is the place where I know I’ve made it.
         Days before I pulled into the empty stadium parking lot as the sun rose.My body is bombarded with a rush of cold air. I slowly drag my feet along the pavement. The stadium that is so familiar to me full of people now lies empty. The emptiness engulfs me with bizarre confinement yet freedom. I feel free, like I can accomplish anything I want. Then, I immediately find myself trapped within the borders of reality.
         The stadium is always locked on weekends, so I press my back against metal fence and slide my body through the small opening. I make my way out to the track, imagoning the stadium packed, with people chanting my name: An-thony, An-thony, An-thony. When my feet hit the track, I turn around to the bleachers and look at the “crowd.” The creaks in the bleachers have become my introduction song, my warm up tape. From running bleachers to running sprints, the stadium is a place where I get to show my dedication for something I love.
I am quickly brought back to reality.
         “Anthony-Anthony! What are you doing?? Let’s go, get focused.” I clap my gloves together to show them I’m ready.
“All right boys, this is our chance to show this league what we’re all about. This is our chance to send a message!” The team becomes restless now. Movement erupts in our huddle as players search to find that mental utopia where everything is perfect, feeding thoughts into their heads as to how we would win the game.
“Gibbons on three… One.. two.. three.. Gibbons!” We break.
I jog back to the net as I strap up my gloves and tuck in my shirt. I stop at the left post as I prepare for my pre game ritual. I extend my right arm to tap the white piece of metal, subsequently making my way over to the cross bar, jumping up to tap it, then finally tapping the right post as I make my way back towards the middle of the goal. I take three big steps off my line as I arch my back and plant my hands on my knees. My pupils dilate on the small sphere in the middle of the field, realizing for the next eighty minutes that is my enemy, that is the object I cannot allow anywhere near my goal, doing anything and everything I can to prevent it.
This is the one place that time stops. This is the place where I can forget about everything going on in my life and focus on the game. This is the place where I think about all the adversity we have overcome as a team to get to where we are today. I remember the first day of tryouts when it was over 100 degrees, when we were a bunch of boys just trying to make it through a whole practice without getting dehydrated. Now we are a team that practices every day of the week, sometimes two times a day.
I remember those practices when tensions would be high, and we would continue to push ourselves and the rest of the team to be the best we could be.  Then you had the practices when we would fight amongst each other over the smallest things hoping that we were never wrong. We could go from taking each other out in order to try and win the ball, to helping each other up when we fall down. No matter what we are a band of brothers. If someone messes with one of us; they mess with all of us. We are a fraternity on the field. We are a family that sticks together win or lose. We are a family that leaves no one behind. There isn’t one day we don’t work to make each other better players on and off the field.
TWEEEEETTTT…… The sound of the whistle lifts the gate for us to attack our prey waiting on the other side of the ball.
The ball is kicked. It makes its way back to the edge of the box, then back up the field. The pattern continues until we break the stalemate. Goal! The scorer is jumped on by three of our teammates as falls to the ground. Then he slowly makes his way back to the starting position while being overwhelmed with compliments from the team.
As the goalie you have to rely on your defense to protect and shield you from predators trying to trespass in your territory.They say trust no one, but that is something I have come to learn isn’t true. I know my team has my back, and they know I have theirs. This is something I learned for myself at an early stage in my career. In one of the final games of my freshman year I got kicked in my leg, ending my season immediately. As I lay in the cold grass that was now starting to be covered with a light dew, my team rushed over to make sure I was ok, they were also the first ones to volunteer to help me over to the sideline as I lie grimacing in pain. I was rushed to the hospital as my shin lie knocked out of place, being held together by nothing but my sock and my shin guard. I wasn’t upset about the fact that I broke my leg, but I was mostly upset about the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to spend the rest of the season with my brothers.
Yeah, we scream and yell at each other sometimes, and so what we may argue all the time, that is what family is all about. Coming from a large Italian family, there is never really a time in my house when people aren’t yelling at each other, that’s just the way we talk to each other. Family, like soccer, is all about teamwork. Nothing can ever be accomplished if a group of people can’t work together, and being on a team teaches you that. Being on a team teaches you how you can fail and then rely on others to help you learn from that failure and come back better the next time.