Tempering

My blood was mixing with my saliva and sweat , dripping off my face and forming a puddle on the concrete locker room floor between my cleated feet. It was just the end of another session of me getting pounded to a pulp and feeling the effects of being in over my head. Three months prior to this day, I opted to play football for the Jr. High instead of remaining in midget league with my peers. Now, the season was just a week from coming to its conclusion and it could not be coming at a better time. Everyday at practice it was like a meatgrinder for me. All my teamates were taller and most outweighed me by at least 75 pounds. Stronger, faster and bigger. Today my pain was focused on my forearms, thighs and most of my head. I wanted to get in the shower, but I knew that I would have to use my fingers to get undressed and was not looking forward to that kind of pain at the moment. All eight fingers and both of my thumbs were swollen cut and bruised, and any task that required any level of dexterity was cause for excruciating pain. Both of my eyes were black and my nose was hurting inside and out. At least for now blood was still trickling from both of my nostrils, and as long as it was moist, there was hope that I could clean it without having to worry about the dried blood forming and being impossible to extract. The reason for this self imposed insanity was simple, to me anyway. It was football, and football was supposed to make you tougher. I was 12 and I thought that staying one more year in midget league with my friends would be a step back. Now I could feel the coaches eyes on me as I started to take my pads off. I got talked to about once a week about how I felt. I knew what they thought anyway. It was my choice to be here and as long as I could walk they didn't worry. I wasn't a pariah by no means, and I think that I was respected by most of the other players. However, I wasn't a hero either. I think that most thought I was just a little weird for taking it day in and day out and never getting to play a down in a real game. There wasn't an arm or a leg on me that escaped being swollen and bruised. The tops of my thighs despite my thighpads were black, blue and yellow from weeks of being slammed into repeatedly by a lot of different teammates. Making me stronger, that is what it was all about, like tempering steel. Some of it real, some of it symbolic. First, get the product hot, then beat it into shape and finally dip it into cold water. Makes steel strong. Hence, I thought my theory was sound. As long as I stuck it out til the end, I would be stronger and better for it. I didn't care that i didn't get to play. It was my sacrifice, to help insure I had a better future playing the game. What I didn't know is that the lessons I learned were going to come in handy far beyond the football field. ....to be continued