The Perfect Saturday

Author's Note: This piece is an expansion of a stream of consciousness.

The day had a beginning like most do. My alarm went off, I never want to get up, but always drag myself out of bed. As I got up I'd remembered that today was Saturday. The beginning of the weekend, part one of three of football. Now that I'd remembered the game, I am excited to be getting ready. The feel of football pants is one that can never be matched. As I went down stairs, I knew that today was going to be fun, and I needed to be ready. I needed to conserve my energy for the game so I sat, resting, waiting.

Then it was time. I got up and began filling my water and lacing my cleats. Once that was done I was ready. I grabbed my water, along with my shoulder pads, helmet and gloves. On the way there my gloves found their way to my hands. I needed to begin to enter the football zone.

Everything from getting to the field to begin warm ups, to after they ended was a blur, but now I am ready, ready to fight, ready to kill. The lush green grass under the white paint and feet glistens in the early morning sun. The metallic, shining bleachers only hold a few people, anticipating kickoff. The smell of the fresh grass mixed with sweat smells sweet. The taste of sweat dripping from my lip to my mouth is so salty. It makes me thirsty. Thirsty to hunt. Thirsty to kill. I can't even tell where I am or what I am doing because I have entered that state of mind. The primitive one. I strive to get onto the field, and hit somebody so hard that they won't wake up. Is this wrong, to be this vicious or is it just a mind set? Is it worth my time to be doing this things for sport? Of course it is. It is my outlet, the one place to release all of my pent up anger constructively. I live for days like this. I cannot feel, I just do. The time before the game seems to pass so slow, but I know that once I am out there it will not be able to stop. I love the feel of the leathery ball being grasped in my fingers. The importance. I need this.