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Angels on the pitch.

A tale of sacred cleats and soccer spirits.

By Eric anexis Published 2 months ago 3 min read
Angels on the pitch.
Photo by Francisco Gonzalez on Unsplash

In the heart of a bustling city, where the rhythm of life pulses through the streets like a steady heartbeat, there existed a small soccer field tucked away from the chaos. This field wasn't just any ordinary patch of grass; it was a sanctuary, a place where dreams took flight on the wings of determination and passion. It was here that the story of the angels of the pitch unfolded.At the crack of dawn, when the world was still cloaked in darkness, a group of young boys and girls would gather at the field, their cleats clicking against the pavement as they made their way to the hallowed ground. Among them was Alex, a talented midfielder with a heart of gold and feet that danced with grace across the turf.On one particular morning, as the sun began to peek over the horizon, Alex noticed something peculiar. A pair of worn-out cleats lay abandoned near the goalpost, as if waiting to be discovered. Intrigued, Alex approached the cleats and picked them up, examining them with curiosity. Despite their battered appearance, there was an air of magic about them, as if they held a story waiting to be told."Hey, check these out!" Alex called out to the others, holding up the cleats for all to see.The group gathered around, their eyes widening in wonder as they beheld the mysterious footwear. They had heard tales of legendary players who had once graced the field, but never had they come across such a tangible relic of the past."Maybe they belong to one of the angels," whispered Mia, the team's star striker, her voice barely above a breath."Angels?" scoffed Diego, the goalkeeper, a skeptic to the core. "There's no such thing."But Alex knew better. There was a magic in the air that morning, a sense of possibility that transcended the boundaries of belief. With a determined gleam in his eye, he slipped on the cleats, feeling a surge of energy course through his veins like electricity.As the team began their training session, something extraordinary happened. Alex moved with a newfound agility, his every step infused with the spirit of those who had come before him. With each pass and shot, he felt as if he were channeling the skill and wisdom of the angels of the pitch.As the days turned into weeks, Alex's teammates couldn't help but notice the change in him. His once tentative touches had been replaced by a confidence that bordered on the divine. It was as if he had been touched by an unseen hand, guided by forces beyond mortal comprehension.But with great power came great responsibility, and Alex knew that he couldn't keep the secret of the cleats to himself forever. So one evening, as the sun dipped below the skyline and the field was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, he gathered his teammates around him and revealed the truth."These cleats," he began, his voice steady with conviction, "they're not just ordinary shoes. They're a reminder of all those who have played on this field before us, of the angels who watch over us even now."The others listened in rapt silence as Alex recounted the legend of the angels of the pitch, of how they had once roamed the earth spreading joy and inspiration through the beautiful game of soccer. And as he spoke, they felt a sense of awe wash over them, as if they were being blessed by unseen hands.From that day forward, the cleats became more than just a pair of shoes; they became a symbol of hope and unity for the team. With each passing game, they would lace up their boots and take to the field with a renewed sense of purpose, knowing that they were not alone in their quest for victory.And so, the angels of the pitch continued to weave their magic, their presence felt in every pass, every tackle, every goal. For on that sacred ground, where dreams took flight and legends were born, they watched over their earthly counterparts with pride and affection, forever guiding them towards greatness.


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