Soccer Novels & Stories

My gaze dropped, almost against my will, to the wall over his shoulder. A vinyl sticker, nicked at the corner, clung to the painted cinderblock: STRIKERS. Bold block letters. Beneath it, a laminated schedule. Home vs. Riverton – 6 PM. A black Sharpie arrow circling Media – 12:30. The bench through the crack in the stall door held a scatter of shin guards and a duffel with the team crest. The air, suddenly obvious, was a cocktail of men’s deodorant, turf, and detergent. Not lavender body spray. Not cherry lip gloss.

Samanta shook her head hard, forcing herself to react. “I just realized that. Right now” she answered. “Piss off, Sam! That's his face on that sign” Carlos pointed his finger toward a huge sign placed high up on the entrance to a sporting goods store. “I knew it! His face kind of rang a bell” she muttered. “You've been watching the whole World Cup pre-elimination rounds with me. Not to mention the Champions League” Carlos showed his disdain. “Correction. I've been reading while you watched those games. You know I'm not a sports fan” his friend replied. “I'm sorry I failed to recognize a star soccer player.”

Leo jumped, reaching, and made a beautiful catch. "YES! Yes, yes! GO!" Joe was screaming. Lisa was grasping at my arm in a death vice, biting her lip. Leo pivoted and sprinted toward the end zone. He'd just crossed the goal line-accompanied by a piercing scream of delight that came from his mom-when a New York cornerback plowed into him, knocking him to the ground in an inadvertent late hit. Leo held onto the ball as though his life depended on it, even after the whistle signaled the end of the play.

"But I haven't even started watching the soccer match, amigo. I don't even know who is winning in the match between my soccer team and their brother, Everton, amigo." "Do I look as if I give a fuck about your stupid soccer match, amigo?" Carlos asked, sounding cold. "But I just came now, amigo. I haven't even had something to eat, amigo." "Leave my apartment, Pablo. I will catch up with you later." "But–" "Leave!" Pablo bowed his head and stood up. "It was great getting to meet three of you, amigos," he said to Clark, Savannah and Michael. "I hope you wish my soccer

The enormous field is overrun with kids playing tag. “Okay, what do you want to play?” I ask. “Um, soccer. My dad used to play soccer with me.” His sadness pulls at me. I make a mental note to ask Colin about Jonah and Tally. I grab the soccer ball and start kicking it to him. I don’t know what I’m doing. But somehow, other kids join us, and we begin a full-on game. Everything else falls away. I focus on helping Jonah win this game. I’d break out into song and dance if it made him smile. Jonah stays laser-focused on the ball. His moves are effortless as he maneuvers down the field. He kicks the ba

The field lights cast a golden glow on the lush green turf, where the two teams battled for a touchdown. I watched in anticipation as these two teams fought for dominance, with the Princeton wolves in possession of the ball. They passed, running with it, punting the ball and so on. Number twelve, which was Eren, held the ball leading the way with the Monmouth hawks trailing behind him with great speed. In a flash, Chase caught up with Eren, slamming into him with brute force but not before Eren successfully launched a pass across the field to his cousin, Jordan, who kept going until he scored a touchdown for the wolves.

Uzor said “Alright I will help you… What will I do?” Arnold asked “You will predict coming football matches” “You mean that game where 22 people chase and kick a white material?” Yvonne and Rachael laughed loudly “What? It is called football” Uzor said “It is one of the silliest things I have seen men doing…why do men gather to chase and kick a material onto a net? Why is the white stone so important to be kicked? It baffles me to see thousands gather to watch those men kick it” Arnold looked serious

"Anyway, you should come watch us practice." "Practice what?" "Football, obviously, that's why we're dressed like this. We're on the team." Sashka turned to his brother and hit his chest lightly with the back of his hands, "Moron, they call it soccer here." I smiled at that, "Oh, you two are in the football team too? I heard you have a game coming up soon." They smiled and nodded in sync. "That's right," one said. "Who told you?" the other asked. "Thomas Sato."

"There's a difference. Pushing is aggressive. Not being present is just... abandonment dressed up as respect." "I don't know how to do this," I said. "Just move," Eli said. "Just let your hand touch mine. It's not a decision that needs strategy. It's just proximity. It's just connection." I turned my hand, and our fingers made contact on the counter. Not hands held. Just fingertips touching. Just that small acknowledgment of physical presence. The moment stretched. "I'm sorry," I said. "I know," Eli said. "But sorry isn't enough anymore. You need to show me that you're actually choosing this."

Thе athlete соmmеnt really ѕtung – we both knеw I рlауеd D1 bаѕеbаll. "Fine, ѕоundѕ like уоu wаnt a bіt of a сhаllеngе. Here's one. One gаmе each оf pool, fооѕbаll, аnd dаrtѕ. Bеѕt оut оf thrее." "Whаt'ѕ thе rеwаrd fоr thе wіnnеr?"