Memoir About Sports Novels & Stories

I chattered. "Hmmm, you might be right. But mind you that I'm not always soft though I have the tendency to be," He explained while I nodded. "You look athletic, do you play any sport?" He asked. "I do. I'm good at soccer, it was one of my favorite sports in high school. I didn't have enough time like other kids so I couldn't go through with it," I explained then we heard the elevator bell ding which I was grateful for. I didn't want him asking me questions that I wouldn't be able to answer.

The news broke just after sunrise, and by the time the Cannibals arrived for morning practice, the world had changed. Sierra Maddox’s memoir wasn’t just a rumor anymore-it was a publishing event. The press release splashed across every sports site and social feed: “Back-to-Back: The Untold Story of Colorado’s Championships.” The cover was bold: Sierra, arms folded, stadium lights behind her, and in the background, a blurry image of Jeremy in his old Colorado jersey, helmet tucked under his arm, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“I don’t know where there are so many but it didn’t take very long for the ones from the pep rally to transfer over. The video took the longest. That game was so exciting! I just couldn’t stop taking pictures.” “It was okay for first game of the season and we pulled off a decent win. That is actually one of the calmer games, though. I take it you haven’t been to many live sporting events.” “Honestly? Never. Not that I can remember, anyhow. Life with my grandma was very church and Bingo Hall oriented. Then life with my mom was nothing but a chaotic mess. Phil was always too boring to go anywhere and Nate was so young. I guess you could say I am living my whole childhood through early adulthoo

As I brought the phone to my ear, my agent’s voice filled my ear, cutting through the heavy silence. “Caleb, we need to talk.” John’s urgent tone carried a weight that made my heart sink. Memories of my time as a professional hockey player flooded my mind. Years of grueling training, dedication, and the relentless pursuit of my dreams. John had been my guide, my mentor, and sometimes even a father figure. This man had been with me through every victory and defeat, every high and low of my professional hockey career. A rush of memories flooded my mind, reminding me of the glory days on the ice, the camaraderie with my teammates, and the adulation of the fans.

“The two of them are introverts so they can hermit together in their labs.” Liam shook his head. “I still intend of playing sports.” “So did I but now I live in the forest alone as a hermit.” Liam looked at me, surprised. “You played sports?” I scoffed. “Did you think I didn’t? I played badminton. Professionally I might add. I had trophies.” “Badminton is not a sport.” “Excuse me! It’s in the Olympics. You know what’s not a sport, football.” I wrinkled my nose at him and he laughed.

"My best event was the 400m individual medley. I always had good endurance and I loved trying to perfect all the strokes. Wasn't fantastic in any but I was all around solid in everything." As the game on the TV progressed we continued to talk amiably about our sports backgrounds. He regaled us all with stories of his glory days playing shortstop for his High School, and I made sure I sounded suitably impressed, especially regarding the time he stretched a double into a triple in the bottom of the ninth against their archrivals, which let him score on a wild pitch to win the game.

I say quietly, my anger folding away piece by piece and slipping into that horrible self-pity I despise. He closes his eyes and scrubs his face with those talented hands, strong and big and capable, skillful with a football. I’ve never met someone as devoted to a sport as he is. He doesn’t seem to get enough of training and working out. Perhaps all players are as focused as him; I don’t know. I do know I went to every home game he played at Waylon, way before we hooked up. Part of that was sorority driven—gotta support our players—but he was the one I watched. Number eighty-two. Someone slides by us, and I realize we’ve been standing here looking at each other for too long. It’s time to go.

Joel had no plans to make this easy on me. I ground my teeth because I refused to get into a word war about rugby that I would hands down lose. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've never played a sport in my life beyond what was forced on me in PE. As a matter of fact, I have two left feet and the hand-eye coordination of a dinosaur with flappy arms. What I am good at is research and I spent many hours preparing myself for this interview. Is there anything else you'd like to know or do you think you could explain sevens to me?"

He held me tighter, one hand still rubbing soothing circles on my back, the other cradling the back of my head. I buried my face deeper into his neck, letting the tears fall freely. In the quiet of his arms, memories flooded me — the crisp sound of blades cutting ice, the roar of the crowd, the burning in my lungs as I pushed harder, faster. Hockey wasn’t just a sport to me. It wasn’t even a career. It was my lifeline. The one thing that pulled me out of darkness when everything else felt meaningless. The rhythm of the game, the camaraderie with my teammates, the pure rush of flying across the rink with the puck at my stick — it had saved me. It had given me purpose, identity, and joy. I lov

He wasn't fully there. When I first joined Sports Blitz, I dreamed of writing about Pierro Rush one day. He was always in the back of my mind, my maybe-one-day athlete I'd love to cover. And now that I've watched him fight, I feel... torn. Like calling him out would be disloyal somehow.