The bus from Chicon to Red River lumbered like an aged white elephant intent on the graveyard. Nick watched from the side window as the puffs of powdery diesel smoke spit from the tailpipe and drifted into the sparse crowd of hookers on the cracked sidewalk. It was a fine day for football. Nick loved football. He loved the sweat, and the grass, the crack of pads and the antsy crowds watching the first drills of summer under a sky blue like the vodka bottle he had smashed on his toe by accident the night before. His toe ached but not so bad as to stop drinking. Drinking made it not ache so bad. Nick tried to ignore the fat lady in the seat next to him. Thinking about her too much would spoil it for him. He must not think of her. But yet as she leaned forward his breath caught the smell of her sweaty flesh, and it was much the crack of a plumber’s *** on a hot summer afternoon and it turned his stomach. He longed for the end of the line. After a fashion the door opened and Nick stepped off the bus into the bright hotness of August in Austin. The diesel behemoth lumbered on with the fatasscrack smell forgotten as he hopped the curb and stepped into the wonder that was Denius. He had waited, savored the coming moment like watching a steak sizzle over the fire in a heavy cast-iron pan and yet he should not walk too fast, he thought, he might burn his tongue in eagerness, so he stepped slowly up to the practice field. There they stood, milling like thoroughbreds before the starting gate. Three year olds eager to run and play the game. Nothing like it. There was never anything like it. It filled the pit of Nick’s stomach with anticipation, and he wondered if this season would be any different than the last, or the one before or the twenty before that, and as he watched the tall god-like quarterback and the fleetness of his receivers, none of it mattered except the hope, like every summer before. Summer was the eternal time for hope, as it always had been. And Nick was ever hopeful… Football was his faith and the burnt orange sun of August was upon him like the summery sweat stink on fat lady’s ***. The whistle blew and it began… Nick drifted with his hope...
great, great post. But I can't believe somebody actually wrote "rack him." But seriously - great work.
"But yet as she leaned forward his breath caught the smell of her sweaty flesh, and it was much the crack of a plumber’s *** on a hot summer afternoon and it turned his stomach. He longed for the end of the line. " Now that's enough to spoil lunch
That was an excerpt of historical fiction that would bring a tear to a glass eye! Herman Wouk would be proud! Hook 'Em
I'm eagerly awaiting James Joyce's 900-page epic describing the last three and a half minutes of the Saturday practice.
Or perhaps an introduction to the freshman football players' experience as described by the advertising department of an apartment complex: Manicured emerald green fields and platinum-hued bleachers welcome you to Frank Denius Fields. Designer yard markers, oversized tackling sleds, beautifully stitched footballs and sparkling helmets are just a few of the wonderful amenities you will utilize during their first practice. Our professional coaching staff will greet you with speed and agility drills designed to introduce you to the joyous experience of playing in the gentle tropical breezes of an Austin summer. Following your practice, relax as you savor crystal clear water served in contemporary sports bottles. You've finally found your home at Texas. After a long day of hard work, retreat to the serene comfort of your semi-private dormitory room at acclaimed Jester Hall. Each and every room has been generously appointed with built-in furniture to suit your every need. Take time to study on your private laminate-surfaced desk, relax on your luxuriously designed twin bed or find just the right shirt for a special date in your ornamental folding-screened closet. These finely crafted details tell you that you're on your way to the top!
