Alike many high schools, mine took great pride in ushering the girls into netball games and tournaments. Of course it was great fun, being goal attack when I had double P.E had to be the most exhilarating yet undeniably exhausting ordeal of the week. Still, I never hesitated to go to that class like I would often do when the bell dare holler ‘it is time for maths, the thing you can’t do’. This would send me into a state of grumpiness far more severe than the coldest of forecasts for class outside on the court. Although I only rarely took it upon myself to train playing netball at my own school, I almost always attended the friendly matches between schools as I enjoyed being a part of that class team. Whether I was munching lunchables on the minibus singing along to really bad pop music or oogling rivals as they entered our sports halls in their kits, the feeling of competition always rode strong within me. Reflecting on this, although school was no fairy tale it was a time where the world was a glorious few steps away, nothing to worry about. All I had to worry about was proving that I was the most agile goal attack that ever lived, the games I’d played in class suddenly running through my mind seducing my ego over the nice plays I had delivered under pressure. That feeling of high school pressure, ever so slight (realistically), is something I actually miss. The game would start and we would almost always usually lose! The fight we would put up would only illuminate their basic dominance. No pity for me, I know. It was the strangest thing, to never be a netball champion but wish to continue playing for all times sake. It’s even stranger when you think a team can lose repeatedly but then eventually win and become champions that have effectually become the overall champions over that entire course as they have beaten the beaters. In retrospect, perhaps this could have taught me a few lessons about how to interpret failure. A netball ghost could point out every losing moment and say ‘here is where you went wrong’ and leave me to work out what it all means. But all that I truly believe of the situation now is that I know that it was not about the winning, or even the taking part. It was something about accepting a competition and believing you are indeed a champion. Not being involved in any clubs (hopefully soon, I kinda wanna do a kick boxing class), I can only convey through a general life perspective. In my writing and in my overall life, I have realized that to complete things and to reattempt them is not just about wishful thinking or even confidence. Somewhere in your execution should be the feeling that you are a champion. This does not mean you still cannot lose. It is the real attitude that any person should uphold in absolutely anything for games are both won and lost. A champion feels as much anxiety as a perpetual (for use of a meaner word) non-champion. Championing yourself with the thought of being a champ can truly offer the clearest shot. The nice spot in the middle, like goal attack where you gotta stay on your toes and keep that speed and agility up so help you god! Winners or losers, we would still be flipping off any car behind us in the minivan be it celebratory or not. At my current age I would neither play netball or abuse the public so excitedly, but I have yet to say no to a competition! What’s that you say? Potential champion? Why yes, this is she.