Nasheed here,
I wrote a story about tha infamous half. Inspired by
@Squirtlevstar
Called
‘tha half’
Raymond Faitala-Mariner, Bulldoggs skipper. Blessed with a heart of determination and a spirit as robust as his tackles, stood amidst the fervor of the game. The crowd's full hektik roar and the rhythmic thud of players, all races, collided in a symphony of athletic prowess. JACs legs, Burtons boot.
Yet, within this pulsating intensity, Raymond felt a gnawing hunger,
an insatiable desire…..
to prove heself.
As d game unfolded, his anticipation swelled. He had studied every angle, assessed every opportunity, and was positioned strategically, awaiting the precious ball. But despite his fervent pleas and exhortations, it seemed invisible to his teammates.
‘Gimme da ball my uso’ he screamed.
Silent.
The rest of f team surged forward, executing plays, passing the ball among themselves like a limited edition gold pressed Rocky A$ap CD. They was reluctant to share bro.
Raymond’s desperate calls were drowned amidst the collective din of the game. His chest heaved, his heart sinking with each passing minute. Ancestors from Samoa, in heaven, died inside.
With every missed opportunity, the weight of being sidelined and shafted by his own bois grew heavier.
Raymond’s yearning to contribute, to make a mark, intensified. The ball, the symbol of his chance, was elusive, slipping past his outstretched hands as if fate had conspired against him. His teammates, oblivious to his silent appeals, remained locked in their routine, their focus solely on their own plans. Kebab was taking the ball up hard, S**tin focused on he self.
As the clock ticked away towards half time,
Raymond's frustration boiled over into a maelstrom of emotion. Tears welled in his eyes, a blend of heartache, disappointment, and a sheer longing to prove his worth. He was not just pleading for the ball; he was beseeching for validation, for a chance to showcase his skill, his dedication.
In that moment, as the final whistle blew, and the game ended, Raymond stood there, a mix of emotions swirling within him. His shoulders, which had carried the weight of Samoa, the weight of captaincy….and unfulfilled anticipation, drooped. His spirit, usually unyielding, felt the sting of dejection.
The half time siren had sung its song.
0 runs
Even less tackles.
Darkness filled his mind.
Yet, amidst this desolation, a flicker of resolve burned within him.
He vowed to train harder,
to demand notice through unwavering determination, and to show his teammates the force that he truly was, the force they had overlooked.
For RFM, the game is not just about the NRL; it is about resilience, the unyielding human spirit, it is about Western Samoa, the thugg life, his isis and ninjas, and the unrelenting pursuit of one's dreams.