I wake up and check the clock, the alarm has yet to go off. I disable the alarm and roll over. I wake up and I have overslept, this fact takes several moments to sink in. I roll out of bed and head for a shower. I don't bother with shampoo or soap - water will do for washing the stench of sleep away. My clothes have dried upon the washing-maiden and I take them back to my pit. I put some items on and place some of the others into my bag, the rest remain in the basket. I check the items in my bag: shirt, pants, socks, undervest, undershirt, long-sleeved undershirt, boots, belt, pads, gloves, gumshield, bug repellent, deodorant, Leatherman, water, inhaler. I recheck it all again. And again. I place my helmet inside my pads and do up the buckles. I put on some smart jeans and a vaguely smart shirt, pick up my bag and protective bundle and head downstairs.
I am down to just 4 contact lenses, I will need to get some more this week - might need to get another eye-check done, must be about a year since I started wearing them. I have the process down to a fairly smooth operation now, I cannot remember the last time I wasted a lens. Check the lens is the right way up on the index finger. Hold eye wide open with index finger and thumb. Place lens on eye and whilst holding lids apart, look up, then to the right, then down and then to the left. Let go of eyelids. Several minutes of brief discomfort follow and then it is alright. Today was not quite as smooth-sailing, the irritation continued for longer. I tried to usual trick of prying open the eyelids, moving the lens upon the eye and then letting it find it's proper place once. It takes two attempts to work.
I don't manage to finish my muesli. I check my belongings again and depart. I am required to get to the ground one hour before the rest of the team in order to meet the physio and get passed fit to play. The roads are quiet apart from the pensioners crawling towards church. I stop to put fuel in my car and have to wait for a pump on the right hand side to become vacant. I put twenty pounds in and go to the counter. Mercifully, there are no two day old sandwiches or wraps available, I select a double pack of scotch eggs and a Snickers bar. Fine athletic fuel. The winds on the motorway catch my car, it is taller and thinner than my previous car - the sharp tugs on the steering wheel still take me by surprise. I arrive at the ground and the car park is strangely empty for a Sunday, some events must have been cancelled. The pitch is mostly set up, three rookies are marking out the hash-marks. I go and see the physio and I am passed fit within three sentences. She buddy-tapes my right index-finger and right middle-finger together, the index-finger got jammed on Wednesday - the swelling has only just gone down. I don't mention the pain in my right thigh, I think it may be a bruised bone but I don't know anything. I will bring it up before training next week.
I head to McDonald's in the back of a small car, driven by a fellow crippled receiver; navigated by a broken linebacker. We are all passed fit and we all slide to the bottom of the depth-chart - this is harder for some of us than others. I order two double cheeseburgers. I eventually eat one and give the other to a hungry, rookie tight-end. We wrestle against the wind over a large, blue tarpaulin. The pitch is to be used by the Argentinian rugby team and the sideline milling-around of a football team will churn up the turf.
I go to the locker room to change, there are no lockers. I swap my insoles over, I put my pads into my pants, I thread my belt, I layer my long-sleeved undershirt over my undervest - this turns out to be the right decision, it gets colder later on. I head out onto the sandy pitch and we idly toss a ball around. People pair off and throw the ball amongst themselves, I attempt to impose myself on various groups to differing amounts of success. I peel the tape off my fingers, they aren't hurt that bad. I put my gloves on, I feel better catching and throwing.
Warm-up proper starts - jogging around half of the pitch. Limited, rapid-fire stretching. Some backpedalling. Some shuffling. We split off into groups - offense, defense. Linemen, backs, receivers. I catch all but two of my passes, one is my own idiocy and the other is thrown behind me. It is too late to go anywhere on the depth-chart - my efforts are in vain. In the pregame reading of the charts, I am not even listed. A long day of watching ahead. Before the game, a coach says that he is going to say the lord's prayer. He invites others to join in, most do. Then everyone shouts and we walk out the doors.
We lose the toss and receive in the first quarter. We put up twenty-one in the first half, the tight-ends and backs take the brunt of the workload. Defence return an interception for six. The opposition are shut-out. Half-time comes and goes. Coach tells us to keep our foot on the gas - keep it in fifth gear. We are shut-out in the second half. Penalties sustain the opponents drives long beyond their natural life. Garbage time is a long time coming. With the two minute warning having gone, the rest of the receivers are told to get ready, we are split into two pairs and told we will have three plays per pair. The first pair get one running play, time expires.
We line up for the handshake. I slap every players hand and say well played to every third or so player. They do the same. I have a twenty minute drive home, they have a long coach journey ahead of them. The team huddles and we cheer the referees, the crowd, the opposing team, ourselves. I head to the locker room and find a vacant area of floor, there are some rookies on the benches. I get changed and make sure I have packed everything. I head outside and look for someone to chat too, there isn't anyone. I put my gear onto the back seat of my car and drive home, singing along to Mr. Sandman on the radio. I don't know most of the words but it is a nice tune.
