I stand in a rush, not just for the ball
but for the roar that pulls me back
into the breathless current,
this game that consumes, loves nothing in return.
But I love it, need it like air,
the only thing that holds me in place
when everything else slips through my hands.
It is a knowing,
a shared pact among brothers, sons, cousins—
we put ourselves forward, not for ourselves,
but for the weight of the streets we rose from,
the glimmer of hope they see in us.
I am not trapped here, no—
this is where I belong, where I am seen.
Adoration is a strange kind of weapon,
worn as armour but heavy as the hits we take.
We rise to be admired, to defy the break,
to muscle past what breaks us,
to chase glory for those who live through us.
But glory lives somewhere else, just ahead—
always just ahead.
And maybe it is never meant for me,
but I will run for it anyway.
My body screams in silence,
the headaches come more often now,
names slipping away with the days,
but none of that matters.
The coach trusts me, the team needs me,
and the crowd—my people—they cheer because I am still here.
I push. I crash. I fall
and I rise again,
knowing there are no tomorrows here,
only collisions.
By any means necessary—
we do not say it,
but we know it.
Wounds carried into a thousand futures we will not feel,
but this is my present,
and for now, that is enough.
The soreness fades,
the painkillers kick in,
and the game is all I can think about.
The game is all I can feel.
I have no choice—
but not because I am trapped.
I choose this;
I choose to climb the unyielding hill,
facing what cannot be conquered.
This field owns me,
this sport owns me,
it demands more than my body should give,
more than the quiet breath of retirement I will never taste.
And I give it all,
because there is nothing else that makes me feel like this,
nothing else that fills the silence
like the snap of the ball.
I stand bruised, bloodless inside,
but the play starts again.
And I need it,
I need it more than anything.
YOU ARE READING
GridIron
Non-FictionFootball is a brutal sport. Beyond stating the obvious, I must ask myself what is more brutal/destructive. The universal knowledge of how brutal the sport is or the fact that we actually like it. Rush for it, live for it, adorn it, love it, gather o...
