The Coach by Ricky

           As we all get prepared for practice, our coach stands there watching us with the eyes of a hawk. His hands behind his back looking down as he waits motionless. Coach has the same sun glasses and cleats on as always. His cleanly shaved head makes him look like some robot ready to control his players. We all know what’s in to store today, as coach warned us after our last loss.

            He makes us start our daily sprint around the soccer complex. He watches us from a distance, never looking away to ensure we complete the task to his standards. Next, the coach leads us through dribble moves as he performs them with swiftness and precision. As we attempt to replicate what he showed us, he continues to criticize us. We continue through the two-hour practice working on more drills as everyone is dreading what will come at the end.

He has us all line up as he paces back and forth, telling us how much more he expects. We all get in position to start our sprints as he starts to count down. I can hear the power in his voice. As we sprint back and forth he yells for us to go faster. We run for what feels like forever as he tells us were not stopping soon. I see a small smirk on his thin lips as I run by. Some kids start to vomit as it becomes too much. He shows no remorse as he commands us to continue. I pretend to get sick just to catch my breath. I look up and I see him in the same pose as always, standing tall with his hands behind his back. He finally put an end to our misery when he thinks we’ve had enough. He sees the exhaustion flow through the team when he lets us know it’s time to leave. I pack my things in fear for what practice will bring tomorrow.