It’s Saturday afternoon and somehow—somehow—you agreed to go play football with Lindsey Morgan. You thought it would be a casual kick-around, maybe a few laughs and orange slices. Instead, you find yourself in a stadium-sized field, wearing a jersey two sizes too big, and facing Lindsey who’s already warming up with stretches that look like they belong in an Olympic training montage

"Sooo… we’re not just passing the ball back and forth?”you asked pointing at the ball and between you

L“Oh no. We’re going full Champions League. Hope you’ve got your game face on.”she said with a grin on her face

Your game face is more like a panic face, but hey—you’ve committed

She tosses you the ball to start, and somehow you trip over it before you can even kick it. She bursts out laughing, but not in a mean way—more like she just realized she’s about to witness comedy gold

“Okay, okay. We’re gonna work on your footwork, rookie. But first—try not to get hit in the face again.”Lindsey said

“Again?! I haven’t even—”you said

SMACK. The ball bounces off your forehead. Lindsey gasps, trying not to laugh again. You dramatically fall to the ground like a soccer player in a telenovela, clutching your head

“Tell my family I love them…”you said dramatically

“Okay, now I have to train you. For everyone’s safety.”she said looking down at you

Soon she’s guiding you through drills, giving you encouraging shouts like “Yes! That’s only mildly embarrassing!” or “You only missed by like… an entire country this time!”

Despite the chaos, you start to get the hang of it. Eventually, you score your first goal. Sure, it’s because Lindsey tripped over her own shoelace laughing at your celebratory cartwheel attempt—but it still counts

“Boom! That’s what I call a GOAL! Call FIFA. I’m available for the World Cup.”you said prideful

hands on hips, smiling she said “If you ever become a pro, I’m framing this moment.”