The alarm clock lights up my face with glaring red numbers signifying just how early it is. Usually this is the part where I would be slamming the snooze button thinking to myself, just five more minutes.
Today however, I'll be bolting out from under my sheets. I don't have the usual sense of burning hatred for the gleeful-to-be-awake morning personalities of the world. I'll roll over and kiss my girlfriend on her forehead while she sleeps, and find some familiarity in tripping over the remote on my way to the closet. I won't be searching for my neatly folded work attire. I'll be tossing that aside onto the floor and grabbing my most precious garment buried deep in a special drawer. The old tattered threads have heavy stains that stretch over fading hues of orange and black.
Battle gear is hardly ever pristine. Especially when it has been through as many battles as mine.
Driving my Dodge chariot at heart attack inducing speeds, I make it to my destination in record time. I am immediately greeted by fellow warriors of all shapes and sizes, adorned in the same hues of orange and black. We usually do battle in our local colosseum but today we meet our most hated enemies deep in foreign territory where they have the advantage.
Over our ritualistic feast of gratuitous amounts of flesh and ale, we discuss which tactics we should deploy on the enemy. Phillip from work seems to think that our best chances for victory will come from a brute force ground effort. I argue that we should start early with a targeted aerial assault to soften the enemy defenses. The discussion gets pretty heated for a minute but all of that is forgotten when we see red flares signal stream across the sky followed up by a couple thunderous booms.
Running en-masse up the concrete mountains that lead to the battlefield, my pulse skyrockets as we're greeted by the gatekeepers on patrol. Credentials were hard to come by so I had to get mine from a not-so-scrupulous dealer, and right now I'm questioning whether it was the right choice. Personally I could care less about authenticity, but if the gatekeepers think my credentials are bogus I will denied entry and possibly imprisoned. One by one, my fellow gladiators are permitted to pass, and I hand my credentials to the gatekeeper. I try to maintain eye contact as sweat causes my war paint to streak down my face. After a brief look-over the gatekeeper grants me access.
Passing under the grand arches and pushing our way through the crowd, it's easy to see we're heavily outnumbered. The battle cries of 70 thousand people smother our eardrums. Hostility is imminent. Most would be fearful in this situation but I relish in every death threat tossed my direction by the vicious hordes of the enemy. It might be because I'm intoxicated but, I close my eyes and embrace the rain of trash being thrown upon us, while making our way to our assigned posts. This in fact, is part of the ritual as well. After it's all over it will make victory taste that much sweeter, or it will make defeat that much harder to accept.
Throngs of people are silenced as the first shot is fired. A surge of adrenaline takes hold as I watch an oblong ball soar through the air. As the front lines of both parties run toward each other down the numbered field I can't help but to think, these are the moments I live for. The moments that make me feel alive.
I'd like to wish everyone out there another happy NFL Sunday. May all of your sports teams do well (unless, they happen to be the Pittsburgh Steelers). In case you couldn't tell, this about American Football. A beautifully barbaric game that turns grown men into boys, and boys into grown men. If you don't see me in the chat I'm sure you'll guess where I could be. I wrote this as a glimpse into the mind of a diehard fan of the sport. I'm not the most religious guy but every Sunday is held sacred.
On that note I have to get to my fantasy football lineup.
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