James W.B. Guinther
September 14, 2016
A Game to Remember
It's a cold Friday night in September at the Wynford High School football stadium. The ground still steaming from the afternoon sun the air crisp and cold, the type that sends chills down your spine. As I walk into the locker room headphones blaring, walking to my locker I can see it in all my fellow brothers eyes all around me, it's game time. We sit in absolute silence thinking this is it the moment we have been waiting for, it is time to enact our revenge. Revenge on our so called rivals, rivals who hadn't beaten us in a decade since last year's embarrassment. Headlines saying it's going to be a close game, but we know in our hearts it will be a bloodbath as we demonstrate our perfect for and complete discipline. Sitting a pen drops across the room and the sound is like a bomb going off, yet not ten feet away the eagles are across the way guarded by a door as they hoot and holler as if in a frenzy feeding of their ego. Coach say it's time, we walk into the back rehearsing our plays allowing us to absorb what is already etched into our minds. A time update, we won the coin toss we decide to give them the the ball knowing they won't have it long. It's time to head down, you can see it in couches face as he yells passionately “are you ready”, “Sir. yes Sir.” flows out in a loud rumble as he repeats one more time followed by “let's go to work”.
Helmets go on hands come together as we march down to the battlefield. Cheers come down the stands as the grass hits our cleats, this is it, this moment we have prepared for we line up with clear minds and revenge in our eyes and our execution. We're kicking off, the whistle blows and the ball flies up and sores right into their arms, not to fret because seven seconds later the kid was struck so hard the ball simply flew out of his pathetic arms and straight into ours. The crowd goes wild this excites the force behind each stride as the ball gets closer to the goal line but their is a strangler his sole purpose to prevent what's about to happen and like a train hitting a deer he is helpless and the number seven in bright red letters appears. The rest of the game was history, as the last seconds run out and me and my fellow champions dash to our victory bell who we visit every Friday home game. Everyone shouting and screaming the passion can be felt in the air, this is the sport we love with the people we love even more.