The Changing Room

In the Changing Room..
The fifteen of us sat there blood, sweat and tears as we lost one of the most important games of our lives. Representing your country isn’t easy you know, and this, was the final.
Being the final game against our opponent u19 Rugby Team from New Zealand, we weren’t too excited to hear from our coach as we all sat anxiously waiting in the changing room.
The smell of sweat lingered across the room filled with beige lockers.   Wet towels hung from the top of them. Hanging like the heads of myself and my fellow team mates from sadness that we had just lost. Deep breathes of exhaustion and sighs of anger echoed throughout the stuffy air. The walls of the changing room were blue. Not a bright blue that makes you happy but more of a faded light blue that assists in making you even more sad. It was as if the person who painted them knew that we were going to lose this game on this very day as if he painted it to suit our emotions. I looked across at my fellow team mates, brothers you could say. As half of them sat on the brown wooden benches with their heads in their hands regretting how they just played that 80 minute game. Most of them all hugely built. It was hard seeing grown men cry. Blood dripped down some of their faces staining the blue and white bandages wrapped around their head to hold their ears down during the game. Gum guards were thrown aside and boots were unlaced and left to lay on the damp, tiled floor adding to the sweaty, smelly aroma.
We could still hear the cheering of the crowd rejoicing to the fact that our opposition had won. Some of them were blasting their horns whilst the rest sang the appropriate anthems. This only made the atmosphere in the changing room worse.
Discussions started arising in the room about the lecture that we were soon going to receive. Accusations about who dropped the ball, missed a tri, kicked inaccurately and tackled incorrectly led to shouting and arguing amongst all of us increasing the...