Love in a Touchdown

Chapter 1

I couldn't believe I just lost it like that. Normally, I always kept my temper in check during the game no matter how hard it was. Keyword being normally. Even with the jerkwads that were somehow always on competitors' teams. They just couldn't understand how a girl was good enough to play with them or against them. I always prided myself on always being fully in control of my responses and emotions at all costs. It gave me great confidence knowing that I could control my inner demons when I was in public. Especially considering that, if I lost any of that control or even a sliver of my restraint, I would feel like as much of a failure as he wanted me to think I was. I would feel like he was right all along. But, for some reason this time was completely different where the control was nonexistent; something had just snapped so deep inside myself that I felt I had no other choice but to simply release it.

The emotions I held together, even though all the testimonies I had to give. The ones to police, to the judge and jury, to the social workers. Heck, even in the middle of the trial, with the probing questions from defense lawyers, the invasive knowledge in knowing that everyone in that room would see all the dirty laundry my family had hidden for years. All those emotions that had built up from the weight of the world and past events had flooded out onto the field which was always a source of strength and peace for me. And that is probably not an excuse, but it is the exact reason why, my hand contacted his nose without one little thought of the aftermath.

***

The game was close, too close for my liking. Granted, this team was our top rival, but still, we should be ahead by now. Our team was on fire this season: we even managed to trample teams that were expected to win against us. At this point in the season, we were undefeated, and I wanted to keep that winning streak alive. I love it when we have an early lead in games because it made it easier in the last quarter to sail on our B-string without a care in the world knowing that our B-string was still B-adass. This allowed us to take the starters out and let us get a well-deserved rest from playing the entire game. After that, there was no pressure to perform.

The clock had run out: it was officially half-time. I pulled off my sweaty helmet, feeling the helmet hair instantly and grabbed one of the Gatorade bottles. I absolutely despised water, but I know that it would be stupid not to drink water in the middle of an intense competition. I may be a jock but I'm not completely stupid. Plus, all my water weight was literally evaporating as sweat droplets into the cool evening air. I'm grossly hot under all the padding and that's without the downfall of being a female with long hair. It is an awful feeling when my sports bra is clinging to me like a baby opossum to its mom's back. The boob sweat is real. But I guess that is the price one must pay for athletic ability and girlish charm? Sure, makes sense to me.

My thoughts drew me in and within moments I was zoned out of the game and thinking about the last week. My mind tends to do that when there is no mental stimulation around me. There's no football in my hand and turf under my feet so I'm processing events instead. My mom thinks I need to go on medication, but I may or may not have closeted ADHD. De-nial is a river in Egypt. I don't want to take pills; I don't even care for the reason. Regardless, I refuse. I don't want to have to rely on something for the rest of my life. Imagine you are on vacation, and you forgot your medication. What can you do? You're basically S.O.L. for a week. I say piss on good brain chemistry; I'm fine.

I have decided I deserve as many mental checkouts as I want per game considering how hard I work to help this team each game. We aren't getting stamped off by our rivals so that's a bonus: nor have there been many sacks. I'm not trying to brag; I know the reason I'm good is because I have the team that makes me good. We have good synergy: this team is my family, and we all work towards that one goal. Without them I would still be in peewees trying to prove that a female can do it too. That a female can be good enough to compete with the testosterone infested fields. Most importantly, as a female who is always on the field because I work hard and play harder. Yeah, I'd say I handle my own well. Then there was something that distracted me from the mind escape I was going through on my walk to the locker room for the halftime talk. I heard an unfamiliar voice quickly rising in volume approaching me.