9/10

Your mind is on anything but the 5 or 6 classes you’ve got to suffer through today.  It’s like this every Friday this time of year, but this one…this one…this one means the most.  Everyone’s undefeated.  Everyone’s in it.  Won states last year? Who cares. Last year ain’t getting it done now. Everyone starts the same.  To keep a fat “zero” in the loss column, you’ve gotta do three things: trust your squad, be more violent, and have more confidence than the clowns across form you.  9 times out of 10, if you do that, the sky’s the limit.

            All day you shuffle between classes.  People talk, but you don’t listen.  The only people you have any meaningful interactions with have on the same jersey you do.  You could answer 50 questions during Algebra, but the eye contact and head nod with the kid who plays beside you means ten times more.  No one gets it.  No one understands what will happen at 7.

            Lunch rolls around, and you could care less about Cafeteria Politicking.  You take a bite, peak at the clock…bite, clock…until its time for that next class.  Not too much is said.  More eye contact and nods.

            Bell rings.  Right to the locker room.  You get taped and let that iPod play list you spent more time making than you did studying for finals last year play.  Around 4, you feel good enough to let your head start nodding.  One track hits home.  You put it on replay a few times.  Now the pads go in the game pants.  Jersey over the pads.  Specialists take the field.  Time for that first walk. 

            You hit that tunnel like a mutha.  There are only about 50 people in the stands, but that’s the furthest thing from your mind.  The hoggies will be out soon enough.  When they arrive, you know what time it is.  When the hoggies charge out, the adrenaline starts to peak.  Stretching seems to take an eternity.  You see the guy on the other team your coach has been sweating all week doing whatever clowns do before the game.  You know you got something for his ass.    

            Pre-game is over.  You’re back in the locker room.  10 minutes to kick-off.  Coach is doing his best Urban Meyer impersonation, but little does he know you and your brothers don’t need it.  You ran sprints in 100 degree weather in July.  You lifted after track practice in February.  You threw the ball around a week after Thanksgiving.  You’ve been ready for a long, long time.

            As you all gather before taking the field for the first time, you can see red.  Coach leads you out, and as you see the lights and feel the crowd, you know that there’s no other place in the world you’d rather be.  On the sideline the nerves set in.  A coach yells “STICK OFF!!!”  Game time.  You pace, jump, do whatever you need to do before that ball is kicked.  You’re all emotion; nervousness, anger, rage, and maybe even a tiny hint of fear.

            The ball is kicked.  Silence.  Then you feel it…that first impact “swack”.  The nerves are gone.  The rage remains.  You settle in for what you hope are 14 weeks of championship football.  After the first whistle blows, you allow yourself a split second to take it all in.  You feel as alive as you ever have.  And if you don’t, then you quite simply must be dead.  - Anonymous