more than a game

Misc texture 2

“Paola! Over here!” Paola’s older brother, Flavio, called. He was sitting with his friend Francesco and his little brother, Gio. They all had Italian kits on and they even had Italian flags painted on their faces.&nbsp; “Ah, Flavio! Hey Francesco and Gio! Are you guys ready for the game!” “Paola, of course we’re ready,” Franceso laughed. “We need to beat this English team and show the world what Italians are made of!” “Okay, okay, Francesco. Stupid question. Has anything important happened yet?” Paola replied. Looking at her brother, she remarked, “Mamma made me do the dishes before I came out.” “Ah, Paola. I’m sorry. You know how Mamma is about her dishes though,” Flavio responded sympathetically. “But nothing exciting, it’s just the announcers talking about the game.” “Okay, good.” Paola responded as she looked around their family’s restaurant. “I’ve never seen it so crowded, have you, Flavio?” “No, isn’t it great! Italy missed the last world cup so we really need this and everyone has come to see it. See, even old Uncle Stefano is here! He hasn’t come to the restaurant since 2016!” Flavio exclaimed, pointing at an uncle Paola didn’t even recognize.&nbsp;

Fast as lightning, my hands grip the bar. Up I swing so I am holding up my body weight with only my arms. I feel the chalk laden bar against my thighs, bringing me comfort, reminding me of all the times I’ve done this before. As I swing to start my routine, my grips move along the bars in a familiar rotation. Then, I am flying through the air to the other, higher one. Seconds of mid air flight, as if I’m a bird flying, and then my hands grasp the bar again and I pivot so that my body is vertical to the ground. Back and forth I soar through the air, propelling myself, swinging, defying gravity, pushing myself to the limit. Soon I feel my arms shaking, the sign that I am at the end of my routine. In and out come my rapid breathes, I prepare for my dismount. With two final swings, I release, tumbling blindly through the air. The world whips by me in blurred color, but I know my routine by heart. I brace my legs for the impact, and when I am grounded again, I am standing tall, smiling. Around me my coaches are beaming and I know why - I have just won gold.&nbsp;

The match was tied, and Italy was in control. The North End of Boston was rocking, people were dancing even though the match was still happening. The relief of the goal started a frenzy, giving hope to the fans that thought it might be over.&nbsp; Paola was more excited than ever, screaming over the noise to Flavio, “I can’t believe they scored! We’re back in it!” “Oh yeah! Yes we are! Forza Italia!” Flavio called back.&nbsp; As regular time expired, some tension started to build back due to extra time, and England having some close runs. Paola believed in her team so much, and she knew they would win. She knew it in her heart. She needed them to score. She didn’t want it to go to penalties. Penalties were terrifying. One miss could cost the match, the final. She couldn’t even imagine doing that. She was scared to even miss a regular shot when playing on her team.&nbsp; But as fate would have it, the match went to a penalty kick shootout. Five kicks for each team. Ten kicks in total. Ten chances for heroes to be made.&nbsp; Paola was shaking with nerves as the shootout began. She couldn’t contain the nervous energy emanating from her. Around her, people were shaking as well. Holding their breath, they prayed and asked for victory.&nbsp;

I enjoy writing in all genres, especially poetry and short stories. My writing has many different topics, but some ideas that typically appear in my work are love, family, and inner thoughts. Most of my work is fictional, allowing me to create characters with different backstories and futures. This freedom allows me to express my varying ideas, but I can also find parts of myself throughout my writing. I have always loved reading and writing, and as I’ve grown older I have learned the power of words. One of my goals in writing is to have a message within my work that will inspire people to feel or do something.&nbsp; I am a rising junior at Rockville High School where I am a member of several of my school’s sports teams. I am on the soccer, basketball, and lacrosse teams, sports I have been doing since I was young. I am also a member of my school’s peer advocates club, yearbook, and in student government. I am an avid reader and my favorite genres are young adult fantasy, dystopian, and romance. In my free time, I draw and paint, usually listening to an audiobook or a political podcast. I enjoy spending time with my friends and family, frequently making walks for ice cream or Dunkin Donuts near our houses. I won a Silver Award from CT Student Writers and an Honorable Mention from Scholastic Art &amp; Writing. I&nbsp;hope to pursue a career in international relations including focusing on foreign policy. Overall, I hope to make a difference at home and around the world.

my time starts&nbsp; 3 … 2 … 1 …&nbsp; i plunge into the water my body braces itself as the water encircles me feet kicking as i swim i plunge deeper willing my body to push beyond its limits my legs moving me forward i am ahead - racing against myself as i will myself to go faster the water asks me to stay closing in on the record - i am alone 3 … 2 … 1 …&nbsp; my name is forever in history

"Little Italy Soccer Kids Paintings Depanneur Rue Dante Petite Italie Montreal Best Canadian Art" by Carole Spandau via Pixels 

Paola started crying with joy, she couldn’t believe her team had done it. Her homeland had won. All of the stories of the glorious football matches of old, Paola had finally experienced one that would go down in history. Paola had witnessed it with her family, her friends, and her community.&nbsp; As the celebration started along the streets of the North End, Paola had never been more blissful than when she was in that moment. Dancing in the streets of her home, celebrating her homeland’s victory - she was surrounded by everything she loved. She was with her family, Flavio was dancing next to her and her Mamma was inside the restaurant replaying the match with the rest of her family. Around her, her community of Little Italy was rejoicing. Indulging in the sweetness of victory and the love of their homeland. And it was all because of football. Football was the reason everyone had come together, uniting in this divided world. It brought relatives together, it brought out neighbors she hadn't seen in years, and it brought fans from around the world to want the same thing. Paola knew that although this night wouldn’t last forever, the memories would last a lifetime, and the match would go down in the pages of history - a history that Paola watched with her own eyes on July 11, 2021.&nbsp;

"Mother and Daughter Hugs Blondes" by Vickie Wade via Pixels

Paola wouldn’t meet her Mamma’s eyes, she understood what her Mamma was saying, she just didn’t want to accept it. Reaching towards her daughter’s hand, Paola’s Mamma whispered, “You are a smart girl, Paola. I know you understand. I’m not saying we’ll lose, but I just want you to be prepared. Okay?” This time, Paola did look up at her Mamma and nodded. Her eyes still held the sorrow of what she had just heard, so instead of a hug, she recieved tickles from her Mamma.&nbsp; “Mamma!” Paola exclaimed. “Really! Stop it!” Paola’s Mamma laughed at her, and smiled, “Are you excited for the match again? You looked sad, mio amore. There’s no reason for that yet. There’s still forty five minutes left! Go back to your brother and friends. Have fun! Forza Italia!” Paola’s bright smile was back, and as she turned to go back to her table, she cheered, “Forza Italia!”.&nbsp; As the second half began, Paola was nervous again. Her hands were sweating, and she wished the air conditioning could be turned higher because the already hot room only grew warmer with all the bodies crammed in.&nbsp;

✦ pantoum ✦

✦ poem ✦

✦ flash fiction ✦

✦ black out poem ✦

The second half was dominated by Italy, Paola knew that they were in control and could score at any moment. England had fallen back into a defensive position, and Italy was pressing, getting closer and closer towards scoring. Paola knew it was coming soon, and in the sixty sixth minute, there was a corner set play.&nbsp; Everyone knew that corners were a perfect opportunity, so the restaurant grew silent. Only the rapid breaths from the patrons could be heard as the kick was taken, and then a solid header by midfielder Marco Verratti into the post. Paola thought it was over, but then Leonardo Bonucci appeared, and kicked it into the back of the net.&nbsp; An eruption of cheers from around the restaurant, the street, and the neighborhood followed. People were screaming with the fact that Italy had just scored the equalizer. They were tied, they were not on the brink of defeat. It was even.&nbsp; Paola had jumped out of her seat, and started cheering. She couldn’t hear anything but the buzz of noise around her. She was jumping with her brother and friends, and she was hugging random people. She didn’t even know who some of them were, but she didn’t care. No one cared about anything except the match at that moment.&nbsp;

“Mamma, I’m done! I’ve cleaned all of them and they’re drying on the rack! Can I now watch the match? Please, Mamma. It’s the championship! Paola’s mamma knew how much her daughter loved football, and she was also excited for the match so after a moment she sighed, “Yes, Paola. You can go to the main room. Please be careful, mio amore.” “Yes, Mamma! Grazie molto!” Paola exclaimed as she ran to the door of the main room. Her mother chuckled to herself as she watched the door swing close.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Paola was only seven years old, but she already knew what she loved in life. Her family, her community, and football. Paola loved football. Living in the small apartment above her family’s North End Italian restaurant, Paola played wherever she could. Her family was very large, and they all lived in Boston. Paola sometimes played ball in the street with some of the other kids, and she always wore her Italian kits. Every Christmas since she started playing football when she was four, Paola wanted kits. She had a whole collection of them, and she wore them almost everyday. Today was no exception, for today was the Euros Final.&nbsp; When Paola burst into the main room, she was greeted by relatives and friends. Everyone was wearing blue, and some people were even wearing flags. Paola breathed in the smell of pasta cooking from the kitchen where her Mamma was, and the distinctive smell of alcohol from many of the tables. Everyone was staring at the multiple tvs in the restaurant where the match was on. There was not a single one showing baseball or basketball, only football.&nbsp;

"Weightlessness" by Lucie Llong via LucieLlong.com

“Mamma, the match is starting soon! We have to hurry so we can watch!” “Ah, my dear, Paola. You and your football. You can watch when you’re done with the dishes.” “Dai, Mamma. I want to watch football. I can do the dishes later.” “No, Paola. Dishes now or no football.” “Ah, okay, Mamma.” Paola marched stubbornly down to the washroom, and quickly threw an apron over her bright blue Italian kit. She forcibly shoved her rubber gloves on and turned the sink to get scalding hot water. As fast as possible, Paola grabbed the dishes, dumped some soap on, and used her sponge. There was a mountain of dishes, the match started in a half hour, and Paola wanted to watch every second of it.&nbsp; Soon, Paola was on the last plate, and as soon as it was so shiny it looked new, she took off her apron and gloves, and ran to her Mamma.&nbsp;

This is your time in the spotlight, the world is watching as you step onto the field.&nbsp; As you bounce up and down on your toes, awaiting the starting whistle, you remember when you were little, still in primary school. When you watched your country’s team beat your rival, saw the players who made history. That was when you formed your dream, the dream that led you here today.&nbsp; That was where it started, and this is where that dream ends.&nbsp; For today, you are living it.

"Women" by Hanne Lore Koehler via Koehler Art

“I’m so glad we came over because it’s so exciting here! Did you see those people with England kits! They must be out of towners because everyone knows this is the Italian section!” Francesco laughed.&nbsp; All four of them agreed, and then they started to hear the first notes of the Italian national anthem. Silence swept across the room, as everyone stood and sung along,&nbsp; “Stringiamci a coorte! Siam pronti alla morte. Siam pronti alla morte, L'Italia chiamò. Stringiamci a coorte!” After the national anthem was sung, “God Save the Queen”, played, but there weren’t any English fans in this Italian establishment, so it was just the noise from the tvs. Then, there was the starting whistle and an eruption of cheering started in the restaurant.&nbsp; Paola was so excited and convinced Flavio to paint Italian flags on her cheeks quickly before any of the action really started. Paola’s Mamma even came out for the match, leaving her work in the kitchen behind because she wanted to see her homeland win.&nbsp;

Paola intensely watched the tv in front of her, holding her hands so tightly together they started to hurt. Her head hurt as she focused on nothing but the match. She prayed under her breath several times, asking the Lord to allow Italy to win. She would do anything if they won, she promised. At halftime, Italy was still down and the tension had only grown. Only forty five minutes stood in the way of England winning, and Italy losing. And that was not an acceptable outcome for Paola. Italy needed to win.&nbsp; Paola went over to her Mamma who was serving drinks to some customers during the break, and she saw worry lines etched across her brow. Mamma never had worry lines except for when she forgot her Nonna’s famous recipe or when Flavio or Paola did something that really scared her. She had never seen them for a football match before, but then again Italy hadn’t won a Euro final in 53 years! Her Mamma hadn’t even been alive, but had heard all of the glory stories growing up in Rome.&nbsp; “Mamma, we’re losing! Do you think we’ll make a comeback?” Paola questioned. “Italy has to win, right? They have to!” “Ah, mio amore, I hope. But sometimes we lose, Paola. I hope we won’t, but sometimes that’s what happens in life. We lose some, we win some. I hope this one we win, but there is a possibility that we’ll lose. Do you understand, Paola?”

This blackout poem was created from excerpts of the Time Magazine article, "Both in First in Olympic High Jump, These Two Friends Chose to Share the Gold Medal Instead of Going to a Tie-Breaker" by Pat Graham.

Photograph of Mutaz Barshim and Gianmarco Tamberi sharing the gold medal in high jump at the 2021 Tokyo Olympics. Taken by Rex Xinhua via The Guardian

my chest constricts -- my heart pounds within its chamber i can’t slow down now sun beating down -- it’s glow gleaming across the sweat that runs down my arms as i lift my eyes towards the stands -- i see you the person who believed you never let me&nbsp; stop -- you kept pushing until i was the fastest the one people tried to keep up with -- you made me an olympian

Heart beating fast, head filling with plays and formations.&nbsp; Coming from the tunnel, it is silence, and then an eruption of noise.&nbsp; It’s indecipherable from on the pitch, but it’s thundering. Rising your adrenaline until you are ready to burst, feeling the importance of this football match, the history you are now a part of.&nbsp; As you run to your line, you look out to the thousands of fans who have come to see you.&nbsp; Singing, waving flags, acting like crazies, just so they could see their team.&nbsp; You feed off their energy, letting their excitement sink into your veins, preparing you for the match that could change your life forever.&nbsp; You sing your anthem with pride, belting out the notes with the rest of your nation.&nbsp; For the whole nation is willing you to win, to beat the other.&nbsp; To write your own page in history, to be the reason for dreams of football victory in years to come.&nbsp;

Welcome to my Mark Twain 2021 portfolio! This portfolio consists of several types of creative writing styles including various forms of poetry, flash fiction, and short stories. Throughout this portfolio, you will discover the different aspects of sports, and their impact on the world around them. Thank you for reading!

Italy went first, scored. Cheers echoed around the once silent restaurant, then once again silence. Waiting, and then another one went in. England had tied it. Then, a save. Italy had missed, and England’s Kane fired his shot into the back of the net. Once again, Italy was down. Paola was struggling with the anticipation, the lack of knowledge, of foresight into what would happen next. Italy scored twice again, and England missed twice.&nbsp; On the final kick for Italy, it was saved. Paola screamed in agony. If anything, now they would go into round. They could win it, or have another chance. They wouldn’t lose yet. As the final England player stepped to the line, only twelve years older than Paola, she held her breath. Waiting for the kick, preparing for what was to come.&nbsp; When Gianluigi Donnarumma saved that final kick, Paola screamed. As she yelled at the top of her lungs, “We won! We won! We won!” The restaurant erupted. Thundering cheers of “Italia”, along with the sound of feet dancing along the wood floors. The clinks of beer glasses being lifted in celebration. The utter jubilation of the fans watching a match 3,262 miles aways on a different continent, five hours time difference.&nbsp;

Paola watched the players move back and forth on the pitch, mesmerized by their skill and the way they worked together. Suddenly, England started moving farther down the pitch, Kane passed it across to Trippier who sent it into the box with a small chip, and Luke Shaw touched it in. England had scored.&nbsp; The restaurant was silent. For a moment, no one could believe what just happened. Then, someone started crying, and then people were yelling. Paolo couldn’t even believe it. A goal two minutes into a football match was very rare, especially in one as competitive as the Euro Final.&nbsp; “What just happened?” Flavio asked, shocked. “How did they just score?” Silence followed Flavio, no one could comprehend what was happening. Italy was down.&nbsp; In a shaky breath, Paola whispered as if England hadn’t just scored, “I think they did.” The entire restaurant was confused, but soon that energy turned tense as play resumed. Cheers no longer could be heard from around the street, the excitement from only a minute earlier had been lost when the football crossed the line into the goal. Now it was down to business, Italy was losing and they needed to score.&nbsp;

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