Padded Warrior

October 7, 2011
By Penelope-K BRONZE, Oak Park, Michigan
Penelope-K BRONZE, Oak Park, Michigan
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

For the ones who brave the rain,
the snow and wind.
I might say I respect them.
For after the game
And the pain they’re in.

But let us have joy,
and a toast to the victor,
raise your champagne-filled glass
and go to Disney Land,
the winner.

Cleats and a helmet,
gloves, compression shorts
long socks and shoulder pads,
their hidden armor.
We salute thee,
the Gridiron Gang.

But I don’t want to talk
about socks and gloves.
What’s better is the moment
the QB yells “hike!”
Now in fact,
that’s one of my favorite parts.
The kick-off at the beginning.
Now the game starts.

In any case, I say
Hail, to those that take the hits.
While we yell and scream,
and spill our chips.
For we play, at home
for some.
Amateurs in the backyard
in the mud,
no pads.
I commend you.

I admit without shame
we idolize,
and scream for pain
be brought upon the team,
opposite, of the one on our backs.
But, we are always astonished
at that that epic second
when a player is found
mysteriously, mid-air,
FAR, from the ground.

We call it a battle.
there’s blood and bone.
Exposed, sometimes.
Which causes a roar of sympathy,
to erupt from the crowd.

Muscles flexed,
teeth drawn
mouth-pieces shown with a snarl.
Looking on,
toward the faces of the enemy,
the opposers. Finally I say,
hail to the victors.
The warriors of our time.

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