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Bleeding Trophy

"Go, go Mousa" were the words that inspired and made me fight the severe pain in my knee. It was the final match. The referee whistled a free kick, but I could not get up out of pain, and the blood was covering the grass of the pitch. The referee stopped the game for a while. When the medical team came to diagnose how bad the injury was, they told me "your knee is severely bleeding and you have to be substituted", but I shouted heartily "no, it is the final match, and we have to win". Then I glanced at the scoreboard. Ten minutes remained, and we were losing by one goal. Since childhood, I have always dreamt of being a successful football player and to play for the first team of Silwan, the local team, in the Palestinian League, and win the title. Nevertheless, the period I spent with Silwan FC taught me important lessons regarding sacrifice and hard work.

It was the twenty-sixth of December, and there were no signs at the house that it is my birthday. My mother was sitting knitting a maroon cardigan for my cousin's new baby all day long, and Alaa, the older sister, was watching some weird, black and white Egyptian movies that I have never liked. When I sensed that the sun was going down and it started getting dark, I jumped off my bed, tearing up that nasty painting book, crying and shouting, "Mom, it seems that you forgot that today is my birthday!" Then, I left to balcony crying. My sorrow and despair did not last more than half an hour when dad opened the door carrying in his right hand birthday cake and singing, "Happy birthday to Mousa". That moment filled my soul with joy and pleasure that made me dance as if I were in a disco, but what concerned me was that mysterious carton bag that he insisted on hiding in the upper rack of the closet. It is hard to remember how the celebration went because I was preoccupied with what could be in the bag, whether it was a gift or stuff that dad did not want us to see. Moments after the end of the celebration, dad came holding that mysterious bag telling me to close my eyes, and I did. He put it between my hands. It was so soft, pressured and light. Then, he ordered me to open my eyes to discover that it was an Adidas fancy ball with Penta form stamps along it.

A close relationship grew between me and that ball. Father once told me, "I am very proud of you," after he saw me dribbling the ball from side to side. I devoted my days and nights to watching, talking about, and playing football. Accordingly, at the age of eight I joined Silwan FC. Failing at first is normal. Days passed, and now it is my tenth year in that club, it has always been my dream to get into the first team and to play at the village’s league. That dream became real when the Coach called me at night saying "Mousa, Tomorrow afternoon we have a match and you are invited". Strange and contradictory feelings of joy and fear filled my soul, and I could not sleep that night. Anyways, the first match I played was against AL-Ansar as a second half substitute for five minutes. I scored the seventh goal in the last minutes. It was an easy match, but after the end of the match the manager whispered in my ear "next match you are not a substitution, you will begin it. Show me what your enthusiasm can do". I started that game, but I was substituted the second half of the match because it was too advanced to me. During the first year with the first team, we failed to reach the final game, being knocked out at the semifinal. Due to this hardship, I became determined to receive a primary spot in the team and to win the league the next year.

It was my second year, the coach had always told me that "dedication and hard work is the only way to success. Mousa, you have the potential and you are the future of this team". These words have always inspired and motivated me, and they have always filled my soul with hope and passion for the beautiful game. I changed the way I lived. Eight hours of sleep, an extra hour of training every day to help achieve my dream, but then the worst hit me. What could be worse than an injury, just six days before the final? We had qualified for the final after winning against Al-Hilal. Six days from the last match, on the training pitch a teammate tackled me from behind. I tried to get up but there was an awful pain in my knee. One of the teammates took me to the doctor for a diagnosis. There, the Doctor said "you need to rest. You've got arthritis in your knee. If you don't rest, your knee will become worse". I became so desperate and sad. I refused to meet the coach the following day; I became hopeless.

All at once my dreams started fading away. I went to cheer my team at the final match. I was sitting on the bench beside the coach holding tears within my eyes. Only six days were between me and my dream. The opposite team scored a goal in the first five minutes of the second half. That moment, I felt like a failure, I felt as I was the reason for this loss. Ten minutes to go, we were losing by one goal, the tension was rising and I was trying to convince him to let me join. With a sigh, he said “Go, warm up, you are the next substitute, but please be careful." Despite a light pain in my knee, I quickly put on the uniform running on the sides of the pitch as a thirsty beast looking for water. It was the happiest moment of my life. The team had scored the equalizer, and it was five minutes since I had been tackled. Blood covered my socks. Time was running- two minutes still to go. With a call of “Go, go Mousa” I found the inspiration and scored the winning goal with a header. My teammates jumped over me, screaming and whooping. The referee called the end and we won the cup! The cup that smudged with my blood. Well, I hoped to win the best player in the league, but the injury was between me and that title. However, I was promoted to be the captain of the team, but unfortunately, it was a useless. That match was my last. My injury had gotten worse, and it needs a surgery now. Despite retirement, I was happy. I achieved my goal, and I was the youngest player on the team.

Up till now, I still remember that bleeding knee, and the touch of that smudged silver cup that looked as bleeding that sometimes follows me in my dreams. Most importantly, I still remember dad's words, "Goals cannot be achieved without suffering, and a true win cannot be born without suffering. To reach the summit you have to sacrifice and work hard."