you're standing in a tunnel.
all you can hear is the noise from above you.

forty-two thousand, five hundred people yelling, screaming and cheering you on.
forty-two thousand, five hundred people acting as one.
our hearts beat at the same time.

in front of you is a little piece of heaven.
a green pitch where
white lines mark your bounds.

one ball
eleven men
one goal.

you're under a microscope.
every little move you make, the audience sees
and reacts to.

when you make your first touch,
the crowd sizzles.

play a one-two.
release someone into space, away from the defender.

when that ball comes to your feet,
you hit it.
and it feels good.

it sails, dips and bends
like beckham.

maybe better than -

forty-two thousand, five hundred people hold their breath.
a gasp among the crowd.

you hear it land in the back of the net -

an eruption of noise.

forty two thousand, five hundred people sing your name.

this is the stuff of dreams.