Football

Football..."Life is like a football game...you always hit the line hard," Theodore Roosevelt. Blood, sweat, tears, my life, and I can't ask for any more perfect.

I bled on the field today. I hit, was hit, hit, was hit...and only back at it again. Two-a-days, three-a-days, whatever-a-days, been going at it and bleeding out of almost every pore imaginable. Damn line stance... get too low for my own good. Fingers chipped and slashed away by the long blades of dry grass, nails broken and torn off to every foward burst of movement I make. Mouthgaurd proved useless, my teeth still grind against each other to every push, and I taste the white bone and enamel, only to start chewing on my own gums for comfort. Contacts dried up to the heat, and I cry blood, as the dehydrated lenses carved into my sockets. Legs popped at every command, kneecaps showed white faces, and the red seems to replace the darker yellow of my skin. But I bled on that field today. I bled because every pint of blood was worth all my effort. Aggression...I was addicted to the pain, and I loved the taste of my own blood. My vampiric yearn for my own blood was too great for me to shudder behind shadows, and I let my beast free. The physical violence and the power is what I sought with every tear in my body. I loved it when they tried clawing into my calloused skin, and I loved it when they bled bellowing screams of pain into my ears. Masachist they called me... every single drop meant I was getting better. If I wasn't bleeding, I wasn't trying my best or pushing hard enough. If I wasn't bleeding, I wasn't feeding. I bled on that field today because that field was now a part of me, and I, it.



I sweat on that field today. Oh... did I sweat...Neither the rush of Niagra Falls, nor the flow of the Mississippi can compare to what came out of my brow. The heat only fell second to Death Valley, and that field was covered in a visual mirage of luscious green, a facade of the sand and dryness it held. Helmet black, jersey black, pads black, girdle black, gear black, and shoes black, I guess I was asking for more heat, but my passion for my colors surpassed the tick marks on the thermometer. My head burned a fiery blaze, with my helmet only to cover my true identity under skin. My hair seered off as my mind and skull were beated with the hot California sun, mixed with the aggression and love for the game. My cleats smelled of burnt rubber. The bottoms slowly melted away, leaving my soles naked to run with the burning grass. Steam flew off my neck, almost as if the sweat itself were trying to escape the unbearable heat that laid upon my skin. I sweat on that field today because I love the game. I sweat because dehydration was a sign of weakness, and I never succumbed to such level. I sweat on that field today because if I didn't, I sure as hell, didn't show my true expression of passion.

I cried on that field today...Oh I cried, to the pain and the anguish that I felt. I cried to the loss, and I cried to the failure. Men...oh...my brothers...I tried to lead you into victory, but I have only led you to the one thing you did not want, and for that I am sorry, I am so sorry. But my remorse will not heal your pain, I know it can't, the scoreboard still reads the very numbers we refuse to look at. I cried for my brothers at arms. Our tears trickled down our cheeks, and chose the path down onto the cold, wet grass. I cried because every inch we earned, we were sent back only further, and dominated at our own. I told myself that I will not let them down, and I know that I made sure my enemies shuddered at my fiery cry, but I still cannot shake away the tears that I cry. The emotional pain could only be represented what men of the game should not do. My pads, my helmet, and my boys were all I had to lean on for comfort. And I as always, the last one on the field. The lights shined only onto me, providing warmth and invision. I circled, and circled, entrailing every second of the game that just happened and the games of past. Put a smile on my face, and my lips blocked away those salty tears. I remember my first touchdown on ym first year of playing football. I remember my years of trying to find my position and where I belong to the game. I remember this year, when I was voted captain of my brothers, the hard-to-the-bone linemen, these were my men. And I led them through the thickest and the thinest, to the now. And now here we are...

Champions of the Art. Supreme rulers of the Arena. True Football players and Young Men.

Live your life like a football game. Be addicted to something, and push hard for it, push so hard. It may hurt now, but look back when in the lights of success, because you earned it all, and smile.