Your story is about a football player in Chicago creating random poems
Yesterday I was playing against the Villas. Our opponents were one of the best teams in Chicago, so it was going to be a challenge for us. We practiced day and night ever since we heard they were gonna verse us.
“Hey Trevor,” Harold said.
He’s the teams quarterback. He’s actually the best in Illinois.
“Hey Harold, ready for the big game?” I asked.
He just nodded.
I saw the whole team run into the locker room. We all changed into our uniforms. The lights on the ceiling were burning out.
“Listen up Beavers-,” Our coach Jake Sanders said.
“This is going to be a hard night, we practiced for this! Show your best out there!” he said.
I looked around the room and took in the oranges’ and blues’ of our uniforms.
We walked through the lit hallway and saw the green field ahead of us.
When the crowd cheered our team on my whole body was ready to show them what I’ve got.
The anchor man announcted the start of the game.
***
We won 10-5. Usually the Villas would win with no problem, but this game was different.
The Villas were completely un prepared. They thought that we would lose in thirty seconds! When we played they just literally walked around us.
I woke up; it was six thirty am. This is when I do my morning jog. I jog five miles.
I splashed my face with cold water to wake me up. After I was done in the bathroom I walked down my wooden stairs. The sun shined in a lot of light making me blink constantly. I got into the kitchen. I got my cell phone and iPod.
***
The air was cold. Aerosmith was beating in my ears as I ran. I was on my third mile.
The ABC 7 studio was crowded. I tried to run around them. All the people stared at the studio. I looked though the window and saw the news anchor men.
“Excuse me!” I yelled at them.
The crowd formed an open path for me.
“Thanks,” I said.
I kept on running forward. The wind kept on blowing harder against my face. As I was running I ran into another group of people.
"What's going on?" I asked a lady.
She looked like she was around her forties.
"Oh, you didn't hear? Opollo is here!" she said.
That's when I froze. He is the best football player America has ever seen. I'm his hugest fan!
When I was fifteen I hung a poster of him with his autograph on my wall.
"Well, where is he?" I got back to reality.
"Right there," she pointed at the window.
A tall black man standing there. He looked big (it's because he's a well built player).
I wanted to go in but the door was jammed with fans.
I used all my strength and pushed the people back.
"Excuse me," I said about ten times.
I got in.
There he was --Opollo.
I walked up to him on the beige carpet. Some calming music was playing. My heart pumped as fast as a speeding bullet. I couldn't believe my biggest idol was there.
I acted as if I didn't really care for a while. I was speechless.
He caught me looking and smiled.
"Are you a fan?" he asked in a deep voice.
I nodded.
"I know you." he said.
A huge football player like him that's known all over the world knows me?
"You do?"
"Yeah, you're part of the Beavers! You guys beat the Villas yesterday, great job,"
"Thanks, I really would've thought that I would be the one saying "You are such a great player!" you would say "Yeah thanks,". ?" I asked.
When I was nervous I babbled.
"Huh, I'm not that kind of guy to just ignore a fan. I really enjoyed watching the game."
"Well, you're a really great player. I'm a big fan!" I said.
"Can I have an autograph?" I asked.
He nodded.
I took out my receipt and handed it to him. He had a pen at hand and signed it for me.
"Thank you!"
"No problem, I told you I'm nice," he said.
We laughed.
"I gotta go now, my morning jog ends in an hour," I said.
"It was nice meeting you Trevor,"
"You know my name?" I asked.
"Of course I do, I read your poetry,"
I froze once more and stared at him. Did he just say what I think he said?
"My poetry," I stuttered.
"Yeah, you post them on poetry.com. I Write poetry too," he admitted.
"Really?"
Wow, football players have a lot in common.
"Wow, I didn't think that you would be the poetry type,"
"I wouldn't think you would be either,"
I checked my watch and it was seven thirty. I had to go the bus was coming at eight.
“I really gotta go now. So bye!" I waved.
"See ya," he said.
I ran out the door pushing away the crazed fans.
***
When I got home it was eight. I took a fast hot shower and sat at my desk.
Poetry: A football player doesn’t only have to love football.
My fingers tapped as the radio played some rock music.
I reminded myself of my girlfriend Katy.
On every date we had she didn’t seem interested in anything else but how famous I was. I'm just too nice of a person to break up with her right now.
We met at a football game
She wore in a Beaver football jersey. She acted like a normal fan but then we kissed. I was drunk so I found out about the kiss from Harold.
I know that I might sound lame but I really love brown eyed girls. They remind me of chocolate. She had the sweetest smile.
Life has memories.
Life isn’t normal.
It doesn’t have to be formal.
