<p>Hey guys, if anyone wants to give my essay a read and some constructive criticism (im not sensitive), I would appreciate it. Thank you so much!! (I know it’s a bit unorthodox, it seemed like a good, unique essay when I sent it, but now I am second guessing it a bit and wondering if it is just too…simply worded and awkward). Thanks again!!</p>
<pre><code> Cypress High School Football. Record: 4-6, on a good year. The joke of Orange County. As many young children do, I grew up going to high school football games on Friday nights. I sat in the stands with my family every week wondering why the other teams were so much better than us. I wondered what it was we were missing.
Freshman year, old coach fired, new coach hired; a rebuilding year is what they called it. Our goal was simple, figure out what we were doing wrong and fix it. It seemed that every game in the past we got pushed around. Coach said we had to spend more time in the weight room, not exactly the revolutionary idea that would turn this program around. But inside the weight room, there was more than just weights. As our young team filed in, our Coach was putting the finishing touches on words he had painted onto one of the walls inside. It was a poem, eight lines. Our school colors were orange and blue. Nearly every line of the poem was painted in blue, except for the sixth, it was orange, as if he had wanted it to stand out. I read it first, a team and a family. That was line six. We won two games and lost eight that year, but it did not feel like the same old Cypress. I could not put my finger on it, but things were different.
Sophomore year, Line Six, and Thanksgiving Day practice. For those teams who did not make the playoffs, their season was over before Thanksgiving. Cypress High School, for the first time in a long time, was practicing on Thanksgiving Day. Wins and losses were not the only things that were different that year. For the first time in a long time, people were actually excited about Cypress Football. Handel Stadium was sold-out for the first time in years. 5,000 people came to watch Cypress High School make its run in the playoffs. As Cypress fans poured in proudly for the first playoff game, their shirts read, Line Six. That line that I had read more than a year ago had evolved since the last football season and was more than a simple catchphrase. It was what we had come to believe. We believed in Line Six and everything we did at Cypress modeled what it meant to us.
Junior year, still Line Six, and a CIF Championship. By the time my Junior year rolled around, Cypress had evolved into a county powerhouse . Line Six was prevalent more than ever and Handel Stadium was the place to be on Friday nights. Line Six was not just something we said, it was something that we could trust. Together, united, and strong, we all believed. It brought out an undying passion inside the entire city of Cypress. When adversity stared us in the eye, and our faith was shaken, we fought through as a team and a family. That year we made it to the CIF Championship. We took the field with our cross-town rival in front of us, the city of Cypress behind us, and Line Six inside of us. We won.
Senior year, a new era of Cypress Football, undefeated and still Line Six. Another successful season to end my high school football career. I was changed. Line Six had taught me so much in those four years. It had affected every player, student, and fan who was a part of our Line Six family. For the first time ever, Cypress was a name in which we could take great pride.
A team and a family resonates within me and defines my sense of community. Cypress football provided me with the enduring belief that success lies within all those who strive to fulfill a common goal. Line Six brought out my passion and showed me the power of people when they come together to reach a common goal. It provided me with the realization that all things are possible with passion. And it all started with a blank wall, and a couple of cans of paint.
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