As I stand on that muddy grass field,
The roar of the cheering crowds
Is all I seem to hear.
No specific voices; it's all just a blur.
The only person I really notice
Is the yelling of my coach.

As I go to challenge the ball,
I think, "I want my coach to be proud of me."
The ball is at me feet, I have to be quick.
I dribble up the side of the field,
Cut in and cross, one touch,
From another player, and goal!
I know my coach is proud of me
From just one look.

Walking to the car,
Ball in hand, covered all in mud,
I receive compliments on a great game.
I say thanks, but all that matters
After the game winning goal
Is that one look from my coach.