Football season

Football season is upon us:
I am sitting here considering the possibilities
Like Queeg, rolling my ball bearings
In my hand.
Will Georgia win?
What will W&L do?
Will I see any games in person?
I am long past the point of playing myself
But that doesn't stop the beat of my heart
As it catches the rhythm of the season.

Set, hut, hut, hut.

The musky smell of the new-mown grass
Mixed with the sharp bite of the chalk dust
The dull feel of the bruising
On your forearms;
A permanent tatoo
Since the 75 pound Colts
On my heart, if not my arms.

Blue, forty nine...blue, forty nine....

Move, move, avoid, avoid, hit, hit

The stinging of the pain at the top of my brain,
The crisp Fall breeze,
The colors of the oaks and maples
Mixed with team colors again: blue and white, red and black.

Just a banquet in the grass.