Three seconds left on the clock
He did it!! Number 5 is in the endzone!
A whistle is blown,
as a yellow flag flies onto the turf

Ending the game with a loss
27-21
Of course it was our rivals,
the ones we lose to every year

The opposing fans,
chanting their school’s name
Two syllables:
Pros-pect, Pros-pect

As we slowly disperse,
signs are ripped down
and the megaphone is turned off
putting it away for the year.

Number 5 lies in the endzone
hands covering the smeared eye black,
masking the bright red face raging
with anger

And the hopeful child in
the stands with a frown emerging from
the once smiling face. Realizes
this was the championship game.

Although there is anger in
their snarling lips, there is a sense
of freedom, a calming breath
as four hour practices are over.

I know you are thinking
about the lies, pain,
and unfulfilled promises
That a diamond ring once placed
on a finger
Promised.

Like the championship ring
was promised by our coaches.
Something separating us
from Prospect, the only other team
to never win this game.

A shiny ring,
One that wouldn't
be thrown across the room
during our final fight.
When I finally had the courage
to walk out