We are all super excited for this game. That's the most important thing we have to win.

We've
been waiting for him for eight months, we've been through tough training knowing that the
tournament won't be easy. This tournament is the real test of my soccer skills. Tiny but needle-sharp
raindrops fell on us as we raced to our transport with heavy kits and hooks* dragging us across the
wet, shiny lawn. The fresh smell of rain mixed with earth makes my nose tickle but I have to move
on to win my match and take another step in my dream of becoming the best soccer player.

The rusted fifteen-seater bus raced along the tattered road leading to the famous Shackshire
Stadium, the site of our most important football match. Whistling is the sound of the dented wheels
of our minibus as it plowed through newly formed puddles. It was the only sound to be heard as all
eleven players, a carefree manager, our coach and five hired cheerleaders stood still, making the
overcrowded bus sound like a crowd. mourning silence. Sweat trickled down everyone's
foreheads, making our already wet blue and white jerseys even more wet and smelly. That shirt is
from our football club, SwordFeet with the club's logo an old sword shining in a ball, it's a bit
immature but it gave us all the inspiration. The fabric of the jersey is rough and causes a rash as it
continuously erodes my skin from moisture. The 20 km long road seems to be endless with
withered trees and dirty swamps on both sides. Although the stadium is famous, it lacks suitable
and easily accessible roads, making it completely isolated from the Shire (the city is famous for
being the city of icebergs).