Fourth Down

“Set, hut!” my thirteen year old brother, Brandon, hiked the ball. As tight end, Britton and I ran our favorite play, the rollout. We saw Sebastian coming in for a strong sac on our vulnerable quarterback and knew that we had to do something.

It was fourth down and the score was twenty-six to a mere eighteen. We were going to have to make this touch down if we ever wanted to tie up the game.

As Sebastian drew nearer and nearer, we fell back and prepared for war. The pigskin flew through the blue, cloudless sky, slugging me brutally in the chest. Gulping as much air as physically possible, we put our plan into action.

Britton covered two of the boys as I continued down the field as fast as my legs would go. In twenty seconds I was half way there and then, I was on the ground just five yards from first down. Sebastian had tackled me with a spear that had the strength of a tornado barreling through a trailer park.

I had never felt such anger. He made me feel as if a flame had ignited and was spreading through my body. As he stood, I gave him a sinister look that only the devil himself could match and walked the field. Dead silence.

Kickoff! And the players were charging. With all my speed and strength I slammed through the players and continued with my focus dead set on Sebastian. With a burst of energy, the fire was released and Sebastian was locked in my sight. Coming for him, I felt like a torpedo moving purposely through water, its current driving it forward and locking it on a target that had nowhere to go.

We collided; Sebastian went into the air and came down with huge crack. His collar bone and left rib had thrown him helplessly into a world of pain. As I stared at him, trying to hold back his tears, I felt something foreign to me until that moment, pity. As his mother ran out, I fought to gain control of my emotions and backed away, horrified at what I had done. I was strong physically but had no control over myself mentally. Fear overcame me as I wondered who I was, what else I was capable of.

Sebastian’s mom continuously tried to calm me saying things like, “It’s going to be OK,” and, “it’s not your fault,” but I couldn’t get over hurting my best friend. I promised myself that from that day forward, I would never use anger in a game again. Kneeling beside him, I told my friend two little words that aren’t said often enough, “I’m sorry.”

I visited him daily. We played video games, looked at magazines and as he got stronger, took walks through the neighborhood. Finally he was better and we continued where we left off that day in the field. It was first down and the score was twenty-six to eighteen.