I screamed towards the heavens! My heart! Oh, my heart! I can feel it braking in my chest! How could this have happened?! How could I have lost?
I feel my body being weighed down by the shame. Without another second, I fall to the ground. First my knees hit hard. Then my hands. Tears fall from my eyes as I finally let my body lay down completely.
This wasn't supposed to happen! I was supposed to be the victor! He was supposed to be the one who failed! Who lost! Who couldn't get back up!
I cried. I cried and cried and cried. My teammates surrounded me. They held me. I didn't have the strength or motivation to move anymore. My team had to pick me up and off the ground. Two of my most valuable players held me up, one on each side. And like beaten dogs, we retreated to the confines of our locker room in humiliation.
The fight was over. It was done.
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I lost track of time easily sitting in that locker room. I didn't even notice when the last man left, leaving me all alone. I guess they thought it best to leave me there. Let me wallow in my sorrow.
Even as I heard the metal door open with a creak and shut with a thud, I didn't move an inch. I just kept staring down at my shoes. My rough, torn up ones. I remember fondly of a friend who gave them to me. He didn't understand how so many people could be into this game, but he still wanted me to have nice shoes for it. He said it would be good for me to practice with real footwear, instead of the sandals I usually have.
I smirked to myself; like that helped me out in this game.
"Hey," a rough, low voice interrupted my thoughts. I knew that voice very well.
Wanting to be anti-social for a while longer, I ignored him.
"Brazil."
I kept staring at the floor.
"Brazil."
Why wouldn't he just go away? I didn't want to talk to him after that match happened.
"You fought bravely out there."
My eyes went wide. I stared up at my unwelcomed visitor.
His usual tightly combed back hair was shooting one way or another. His red and black kit was completely dirty. Had he really played hard enough to make it look like that? I could even see some dirt on his face that had been mixed in with his sweat.
Before I could react to his words, he held out his hand to me.
I looked down to stare at it, as curious about it as I had been with what he just said.
"Good game. You made me push myself a little bit more to get those goals."
I lifted up my hand, cautiously place it in his. He grabbed it, shaking it strongly.
I stood up tall, a determined look coming back to my eyes, "It won't be that easy next time, Signor. I'll make damn sure of that."
He grinned, fire leaping into his eyes, "You better not. I like my battles fierce."
And with that, we left the locker room together; he, determined with winning the finals of this year; and I, with settling the score next time. Next time, I will win against him.
Next time, Germany will fall.
The fight has just begun.