Fiction About Football Novels & Stories

The few soccer facts I read are jumbled together. His head continues to shake at my enthusiastic, but apparently wrong answer. "While technically a football term, it's the wrong football in this case." "There's more than one kind of football?" "Oh, Marissa." He sighs and takes another drink of his water. "You have so much to learn, young grasshopper."

Winston remembered nothing of how his godmother had raised him and his two-year-old sister. However, we have deviated a little from the narrative of our story. Winston liked to go to the village of "Gudino" because he could talk to his adult friend Roma about sports and play sea battle with him. Sometimes Winston even won his "opponent". But later Winston realized that this is what friends are for, sometimes to give in to each other. For him, Roma was a model of intelligence, so he listened carefully to him about the Spartak football club – why Spartak wins or loses. He also liked to come to him to listen to the music of the group "chayf" and "Chizh and Co" on an old tape recorder. He also f

"What Quent is trying to say, and failing, is that you need to stay in the councilors cabin tonight. And should probably not play football with them." A loud bickering came from the football field as the four men scrabbled for the ball. Muscles and snow mixed on the ground as each man tried to gain the football. If she had been playing, she would have been squished. Hell, she thought, if a Denver Bronco's linebacker was playing, he'd be squished.

"Oh? Enlighten me then, Miss Football Expert. I rolled my eyes, leaning back against the couch. “Alright, first of all, let’s get one thing straight. There’s football, and then there’s soccer. And if you’re talking about American football, I’m gonna pretend this conversation never happened.” Simeon let out a deep, rich laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, so you’re one of those fans.” "Damn right, I am," I said, with a grin. "Football, real football, is a game of strategy and precision, not just brute strength. And before you even begin to argue with me, I would like to remind you most of the world is on my side." He chuckled, lifting his hands into mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll let this one go

I just didn't know what it was. Coach Rogba, our buff yet block head Gym teacher acknowledged my medical pass, thankfully, and let me sit on the bleachers watching the rest of the class play football(soccer). Caitlyn was fast and skilled in it. Gazelle not so much. Okay, that was putting it mild. She was horrible! She was on Caitlyn's team of four and I could tell that Gazelle's poor performance irked Caitlyn. She was practically gritting her teeth and tugging at her hair. Her team was still in the lead, but I guess it was just the fact that Gazelle kept kicking the ball out of the field that got to Caitlyn. They were down to the final round and Caitlyn's team was one of the two teams to rea

It caught me off guard, not because it was complicated, but because no one had asked me that in a long time—not like they actually wanted the answer. I felt myself smile before I could stop it. “My dad used to take me to local football matches when I was little.” Dean looked mildly surprised. “Football?” “Not hockey,” I said, laughing. “I grew up watching football.” I searched for the right way to explain it without sounding rehearsed. “It wasn’t really the sport that hooked me. It was everything around it—the goalkeeper playing his last match before retirement, the rookie who couldn’t stop crying after his debut, the kid waiting outside the stadium for an autograph like it was the most impo

I asked him. "Yep," he said. "What game?" I demanded. I really want to know what he was talking about. It looks like he was threatening somebody. "Football," he told me. "And what secret in football were you talking about?" I asked him. "Come on, Luna, why are you asking?" He demanded. "I'm just curious," I told him. "Curiosity kills the cat," he told me. "So, are you going to tell me or not?" I asked him.

To protect her vulnerable feelings, she raised her defenses like a porcupine. "Don't worry, I won't go watch your practice. I have absolutely no interest in a violent sport like football!" As if hearing a joke, Asher raised an eyebrow. "Violent sport?" "Isn't it? I've watched a lot of American TV shows, and they all have football elements. The football players in those shows are always bullies, and it's the same in the games." Seeing Wendy's confident expression as she spoke, Asher couldn't be bothered to explain what football really was. Once prejudices form, they're hard to change. Besides, why should he care what this football novice thought?

“Well, since I knew my sister would run the company in the future, I did what I loved the most. Football.” “American football.” He rolled his eyes, and I thought it was cute. “Yes. Not soccer, Tara.” I faked my cringe. “It’s football. You kick the ball with your foot, not carry it like a baby and brawl like gladiators or Sumo.” That was when he barked out laughing. I laughed, too. One moment, I was bawling, yet here I was, laughing with the man who wanted to marry me to repair his image.

I just hope this reality star thing works out for her, if it doesn't, I'll try talking her into getting into design school or something. I must really be living under a rock because I never knew a football game was such a spectacle, the teams run out under thunderous applause and noise, and I must say it is completely electrifying, even for me. I thought it was just college football, but it's like the freaking NFL. "Are you a girlfriend?" The older gentleman standing next to me asks, with a friendly smile on his face. "Oh no, just a friend." I smile back politely. "Must be some friend to get you in these seats." He winks at me.