We Are Going Into The Finals

• Zachary Spencer, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2007

I’m playing football for the Essendon Bombers and we’re losing by two points to Collingwood. They are eighth on the ladder and we are ninth. We have won and lost the same amount of games, so if we win, we are in the top eight and set for the finals.
It’s the dying minutes of the last quarter and I’ve dished out a match-winning 38 possessions. I can hear all of the Essendon supporters cheering for their awesome team as they come back from being 49 points down mid-way through the second quarter, and it feels great.
I take my place back in the centre of the field, feeling pretty confident. The huge opposing ruckman leers unpleasantly at me. I gulp. I’m not feeling so certain anymore. The bald, white clothed umpire bounces the Sherrin football in the centre of the ground and our tall, burly ruckman taps it straight to me.
As soon as I grab the sticky ball, a couple of big ‘tuff nut’ opponents run straight for me. In one swift moment, I skilfully manoeuvre around them both and kick the ball towards our strong full-forward. I can see that he is very tired by the look in his eyes. They are drooping and he has sweat bouncing off his muscular arms. I see his eyes light up as he receives a perfect drop punt on his chest at around 30 metres in front of the goals.
I notice he is nervous. I trot up to him and roughly pat him on the back. The smell of sweat and mud is almost overwhelming. He nods at me with a reassuring manner. He steps back, gets ready and kicks the ball straight through for a goal.
All of the Essendon players run right to him, giving him back-breaking hugs and slaps on the back. I am so happy. I can almost feel relief bouncing off me. We are yelling so hard we don’t even hear the siren go off until the presenter yells it over the Essendon supporters’ roars.
We can’t believe it. Collingwood are booted out of the eight and we happily take their place in the finals! Our coach, Mark Harvey, is running out onto the ground, pumping his fists into the air, with all of his pride forgotten. He looks ridiculous, but no-one cares. We’ve made it into the eight!