A Horrible Kick

The crowd entered the stadium, squeezing through the gates, hurriedly walking the promenade, making the final march up and down steps to be seated for the game. Kickoff time was set for 1:00pm. The captains came to the center of the field and met with the head referee. A cool early winter breeze blew through the stadium mixing dry fall leaves and an occasional snowflake. After a brief discussion, the captains backed away from the man in the black and white strips as he tossed a coin into the air, caught it as it fell back to the earth and flipped it onto his opposing wrist. The winning captain chose to receive and the men left the field to prepare for the opening kickoff.
The teams lined up on the field, like opposing armies lined up to fire upon each other. The Kicker angled shifting his weight back and forth, hand raised preparing to signal his start, ready to strike. The opposing receiver line up just a few yards ahead of the goal line anxiously awaiting the ball. The kicker brought down his arm and approached the tee. As he swiped at the ball with his foot the line of players released and charged the opponents. The opposition moved forward as well, arms up and muscles flexed, tensed and ready to make contact. They converged at midfield as the crunch of helmets and pads let out a loud blast. But a blast that went beyond the men as a terrifying roar came from the crowd. Shots were being fired. Suddenly the crowd realized this was more than the rumble of the game. A group of men and women were scattered throughout the stadium and they started to open fire. Then light from a huge blast was the last thing they saw.