“Punches! You’re in!” coach yelled.
Finally,
I had waited months, years, heck!
I had waited my whole life.
My excitement exceeded that
of lying in bed Christmas Eve
knowing your getting that Red Ryder BB gun.
Everything smelled good at that moment,
My coach’s garlic breath,
My armpits,
my teammate’s sweat in the huddle,
all smelled heavenly.

I squatted down
and stared,
stared into the deep black abyss
of my opponent’s eyes.
To me, they were red
like his face, angry and ready to kill.
My excitement turned into fright.
“Hike!”
I shot forward,
Popped him in the chest,
And knocked him clean off his feet and
on his back a good three yards…
Or… that’s what I like to think.

I remember lying down,
breathless and gasping for air.
Imagine getting knocked in the gut
by the great Muhammad Ali,
Ok don’t, you might hurt yourself.
I got up and hobbled off.
The solid metal bench never felt better
against my black and blue bottom.
Coach never put me in again.
Maybe football isn’t for me.