Football: the Pains and Joys

Even if you don't like football, this is kind of more like a moral story than a total sports story.... I rated it PG-13 because the guy gets injured and it's a little creepy and painful. I'm also testing a new style of writing here, so if you can edit, i would really appreciate it. It is a bit long, but it's kind of split up by {}, so if you want to stop, look for one of those. Again, I would really appreciate comments and edits.

read on.

[size=large]Football: the Pains and Joys[/size]

I’m an old man now, I can’t walk, and one of my hands doesn’t work. So all that I can do is sit and think… of everything. But of all my memories, right now, one stands out in my head: high school football. My pain… and my joy.

I’m a small child, in my freshman year at high school. I’m only five foot six, and on a football team made up of six foot or more starters. The only reason I made the team was because I can throw, catch, and run well—and I know how to play the game. I am small, so most of the time I sit on the bench. Sometimes I’m allowed to refill the starters Gatorade bottles.

It really isn’t even that fun to play, since I don’t do anything. Until that one day. It’s the eleventh game—one more and we’ll finish our season. We’re playing the worst team in our league, the only one that hasn’t won a game yet. The coach decides to give a starting cornerback a rest, and sends me out instead. The player I’m guarding has to be at least five inches taller than me, and coach says that even if I won’t be blocking any passes, I can maybe guard the kid well enough that the quarterback won’t pass it to him. And our team can come back from a single touchdown anyway—once I’m out.

Opponents: First down and ten at the thirty-three yard-line.

The opponent’s quarterback takes the snap and hands the football to the fullback. He finds a hole and sprints through it, gaining eight yards.

Opponents: Second down and two.

The quarterback hikes the ball, but it’s a bad snap. He picks it up and hands it to the running back, barely avoiding the sack. The running back dives over the line of people, landing one yard outside the first down line. Another first and ten.

Opponents: First down and ten.

The quarterback takes the ball again, and tosses it back a few yards to the running back. The running back catches the lateral and starts to run. He’s hit. He’s down at his own forty-three for a loss of one yard.

Opponents: Second down and eleven.

The quarterback takes the ball again, this time looking to pass. He glances around, and no one’s open deep. He’s about to get sacked, but he throws the ball to a backup running back. He barely manages to keep it as he’s hit. Gain of three yards.

Opponents: Third down and eight.

The quarterback hikes the ball again, this time in shotgun position. He looks down the field, and seeing that he has time, pump-fakes. One of our defensive lineman gets through their line, and starts to pull down the quarterback. He throws it just in time… to the guy that I’m guarding. It’s a short pass, so the receiver turns. As I turn also, I slip on the muddy turf. I fall onto the ground heavily, and if the wide receiver catches the ball, he’ll probably run it back. And I’ll be out of the game. But the ball falls shorter than the receiver guessed. He misses it… and it falls into my outstretched hands. I’m down, but it’s an interception. First down and ten for us.

‘Luck,’ is all I can think.

As we go out to offense, Coach tells me to rest for a bit, and congratulates me. I watch as our team drives down the field, and I’m happy. ‘I helped with this,’ I thought. I think that Coach notices me smile, and he tells me that I should go try to help out the team. It’s second down and goal at the opponent’s seven yard-line. Twenty-one feet until we can score.

We go for a passing play, our main wide receivers head into the end zone, but I cross a few yards away from line of scrimmage. I’m the only person open, so the quarterback throws it to me. I make the catch at the four yard-line.

I turn to run, and make it two more yards before I’m hit. As I go down, I feel the ball slip out of my hands. I fall down at the one yard-line, and watch the ball roll into the end zone. I reach out my right hand, knowing that I can’t let this be recovered by the other team. My hand closes on the ball. I recovered my own fumble, and scored a touchdown. But a player dives on top of the ball—on top of my hand. As he lands on it, I hear a crunch, and from the pain I know that my wrist is broken. As I’m helped off the field a few moments later, I notice that the player who landed on me was on my own team, which made the pain seem worse.

Coach comes to me in the hospital and tells me that we won that game, but the next week our team loses, which means that we won’t be proceeding to our playoffs.

{}

It’s my sophomore year, the last game of the season, and my wrist has healed, but Coach says that I probably should wait to play until the next season, so it’s not in much danger. But in the last play our backup running back gets hurt. Coach sends me in, because we’re down by four points—too much to win with a field goal.

It’s third down and goal.

The quarterback snaps the ball and hands it off to our running back. He’s in trouble, so he tosses it backwards across the field to me. I see a hole, because everyone had moved to the other side of the field, so I run through it. There’s one guy coming to get me, so without thinking I stick my right hand out to protect the ball. The injured hand. I can’t believe it; because I can see it happening before the defensive man even gets to me. He hits my hand, and I can hear and feel it snap back. Again. The man pulls me down, but I fall into the end zone. I’ve made another sacrifice for the team. The same sacrifice, two years in a row.

At the hospital the doctors tell me that my wrist won’t work anymore, and I feel myself shaking. I’ve seen worse things than this in movies, but I can’t believe that it’s happening to me. When they leave, I start to cry.

Our team still doesn’t make the playoffs.

{}

My junior year, Coach tells me that I should stay on the team. I watch them every game from the bench, and imagine that I’m playing. My teammates tell me that I’m the smallest hero our team has ever had. Somehow it makes me happy.

That year, I practice throwing with my left hand at practices, and in the last game, our quarterback twists his ankle, so Coach asks me if I want to go out for one more play. The center will hand it to you lightly, and you can have one pass. I accept, knowing that we have one of the best offensive lines in the state. I take the snap—if it can be called a snap—and look down field. I make a six-yard pass down the middle, and in my left hand, the ball still feels awkward. The pass looks terrible, and it’s intercepted. I can’t believe I mess it up like that. I hang my head as I walk toward the sideline, knowing that it’ll be my last play of the season.

That year our team goes to the playoffs, but we lose in the second game. If we had won, we would have gone on to the “Mini Super Bowl”.

{}

My senior season comes, and I still practice with the team, working on my passing. I’ve actually gotten quite good. We do great in our games, and we’re still undefeated as we enter the final game. Coach says that I should go out again for a passing play. He still trusts me.

I hike the ball and get it in my left hand, looking to throw. I can still move my right arm, so I use it to run to the left side. That year, many of our players were gone, and one of our freshmen lets a guy slip past him. I throw the ball, but I’m hit, and I can’t tell whether it’s caught or not. This time my wrist is fine, but I can feel my legs twist under me awkwardly. I can’t believe all of my bad luck. Only one of my good plays I haven’t gotten injured on. The other was a terrible play.

As I’m carried off the field Coach tells me that the receiver caught the ball and scored. My on-field stats were great, but my injury report looked terrible. Our team goes undefeated that year, and in the playoffs we move up to win. It’s only the town’s second Mini Super Bowl win, and only their third trip. The team says it’s all because of me—that I was their inspiration to win.

Coach goes to the hospital to give me my medal, but it’s at the same time that I’m given the bad news. The doctors say that I’ll never walk again… and I know that it’s the truth. The pain is too great.

Next to the trophy the entire team votes to put a picture of me.

My football days were over, but everyone says I have been the greatest player in the town’s history.

I’d always dreamed of winning, of getting the medal, and even of becoming a legend. But I never imagined that I wouldn’t get to be there at the championship game. I didn’t know whether I should be happy or sad. But I’ve never wished that I hadn’t ever taken up football. It was all worth the pain.

I’m an old man now, I can’t walk, and one of my hands doesn’t work. All I can do now is stare… at the pictures on the wall, some from photographers, so from newspapers… at my one medal… and at all of my memories, which unfold in my head.

Many people have said I should have quit playing after my first injury, but I know that I couldn’t have quit, even if I tried. All of my pain has happened because of football, but much of my joy has as well. And there are two things that football has taught me about life:

Cherish every good moment you have, because you aren’t guaranteed of another… don’t forget to live.

And never, ever give up.

That’s my end zone.

thanks for reading!

Teh Wozzinator