My cleats started clicking in eighth grade.
They were crunchy before,
Now, they look like little blades.
I stepped on a shoe, it ripped, it tore.
Click, click, click, clicking goes my cleats.
The sound, so satisfying.
Even more when the whole team meets.
The shoes, very temporary, we are always buying.
Pitching, so straining.
The holes in my toes are prominent,
But I’m not complaining.
My Ringers are deteriorating and I try to stay dominant.
Tournament after tournament,
Game after game.
Always buying shirts that lay idle as ornaments.
After all this work, the world will know my name.
Win or lose, smile or sob
We should still say,
“Good game… nice job!”
There is one thing that connects us at the end of the day.
The sharing of water and oftentimes treats,
The thing all teams have is the sound of clicking cleats.