Of Pride and Passion

There are games we play and there is passion   It is perhaps America’s pastime that merely passes the time until the tumble of Autumn leaves ushers in the rumble of the band the roar of the crowd and that first whistle blast   It is more than mere game   It is the beating …

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The Game

The dirt remains and I can still smell the dampness rising from the wet grass so long ago, such a lush aroma born only in the coolness of a pre-autumn Friday night.  Not just any night, but the night of nights, the night of The Game. Kneeling in the huddle I look into the faces …

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