As I sit here writing this post, I am nursing a hurt shoulder and shin-splits that I should probably go ice. I have bruises on my body and am exhausted from training and working out today. I’ve been contemplating why I do this to myself. Why I stand and take all the pressure and pain and torture that many others would consider barbaric. And it begs the question, why the hell do I put up with all of this when I could spend my days sitting on the couch watching TV?
And the answer would be because I love the game too much. I love the hits, I love the comradarie between teammates, I love that feeling of pride when I tell people I’m on the team, I love winning, and I love those Friday game nights when you walk out onto the field and know that everyone in the stands has come to watch you play, that you’re the main attraction. I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. I love suiting-up and wearing my jersey with the big 75 on it. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without football, and I won’t ever forget any of the memories or any of my teammates. I love that feeling of accomplishment after a hard day of practice, which leave me exhausted but strangely content. I have not experienced anything greater in this life other than being a member of a championship football team.