Game Day

Dim, buzzing white lights overhead. The padded floor is soft and indented by the spikes of your cleats. It's freezing. Outside you hear yelling, and in the next room over is a huge stereo blasting Hip-Hop music. Athletes dressing, putting the heavy pads across my neck, I feel revitalized. It is Exam week, and everyone has a lot of energy pent up inside of them from study. Kaminski walks past, small vial in hand. he goes into a room with a thick steel door. He emerges from the room with a now empty vial and smashes it against the white bleach stained wall. He opens the locker room door with his forehead and asks us all what time it is. All of us scream in return, game time. We line up and walk outside in our fresh, clean orange and black uniforms, forcing the tight helmets over our cold red ears and smashing our heads together continually the asking the ever prevalent question, What time is it? Hundreds of kids on the sideline, The green and white opposition, waiting. Timm rounds us all up, vials for everyone, the German writing on the bottle is not clear, but the red caution sticker is. Plug your nose and drink it down, it's time to stretch. The bright lights illuminate the turf field. A boy is running, holding a large orange flag, everyone is screaming. Line up everyone, stretch out your cold limbs. Get ready, today is our day of vengeance. We have not defeated this green foe in almost a decade, today is the day, our day. They kick off to us. We take the ball, run it down the field for our first six. We realize, we are going to humiliate them.