War on the Field

He wiped the sweat from his face as he removed his grass stained helmet. His body was sore and he felt physically and mentally drained. Using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat dripping into his eyes, he looked up at the looming scoreboard above him: 27 to 24. They were down by three with only nineteen seconds left in the game, and they had just spent their last timeout. The championship was on the line, and only nine yards separated them from victory. As his teammates rallied around him at the bench, he took a moment to reflect on all he had accomplished over the years with this team.
They had gone three seasons losing only one game, to the very team they were playing now. That game had been close as well, losing only by four points. He still blamed himself for the defeat. With only two minutes left to play in the game, he had made a bad decision and thrown an interception at their opponents twenty yard line. Their opponents came back, making their defense look like a junior varsity football team. As time expired, their running back had run the final five yards to win the game for them. The loss had laid dormant in the back of his mind, until now. He could feel his pulse quicken, and he could feel himself perspiring greatly as he reminisced on the past.
He opened his eyes and saw his fellow teammates staring at him, awaiting instructions from their leader. “I’m going to keep this short and sweet boys. It’s been a long, hard fought road, but we’ve all pulled our own weight, and that’s why were here today. I could tell you all that whether we win or lose we’re still champions, but it would be a lie. If we want to truly call ourselves the champions of this great game, than let’s win the championship. What do you say boys?” They called back their war chant to their great leader, “Hoorah!”
As he replaced his helmet he could hear the fans behind him began to cheer. Thunder erupted from the stands, and it felt as if the ground was shaking beneath his feet from their stomping and clapping. Lining up behind his center, sweat dripping into his eyes, he did his best to slow down his breathing. His muscles were tightening and his hands began to shake. Time seemed to slow down and every sound he heard became distant in his mind. Even the wind seemed to stop for a split second.
“Hike,” he yelled. The center handed the ball back to him and began pushing the man in front of him back, trying to prevent him from crossing the line. The sounds of pads and helmets crushing together overwhelmed him. The ball felt heavier than a boulder in his hand.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a linebacker blitzing him from his weak side. Instinctively, he began to run in the opposite direction. He frantically looked for an open receiver but he would find no relief. His mind was racing too fast for him to concentrate. Suddenly, the linebacker was just steps away from crushing him and his dreams of winning the championship. The only thought that seemed to enter his mind at the moment was run. He tucked the ball into his abdomen and began running towards the end zone.
The linebacker was faster than he had anticipated. He reached out and grabbed his jersey from behind, but he was determined to make it. He yelled a battle cry and broke free of the tackle. The end zone was just feet in front of him. He held the ball out in front of him and dove, flying through the air. As he landed on the ground he turned to see the referee blowing the whistle, holding his hands above his head, signaling a touchdown.
He had done it. He had won the championship.