New Jock Tales–Freshman Year–PT 5–Game Day

New Jock Tales—The Beginning PT 5 GAME DAY

It was finally here. Game day. The school was going nuts. Cheers and chants filled the hallways. Blue and silver banners were everywhere. It was nearly out of control. I guess a hundred people patted me on the back walking down the halls during the day. All the players were in their game jerseys, so it was easy to spot us.

Three o’clock. School is finally out. Only 4 hours till kickoff. I was a nervous wreck. I went straight to the locker room. No time to go home. Some of the others were there as well, getting painted up. A few were working out some—getting pumped up. Most of the team had gathered now—time was flying. Four o’clock. Three hours now till game time. Mandy Johnson and a couple more cheerleaders show up with some sandwiches. Five thirty. “Aight dawgs, time to chill, and clear ur heads. Sit down, lay down—whatever. Just get quite. And no sneaking off to jack-off either—save ur nut for the game”. Most of them chuckle a bit as they chill out.

“Dustin—get ur managers and ur stuff and get on out there.

I finish getting dressed. I notice an envelope on the top shelve where my helmet was. Picking it up and looking, written across it was “go go Diamond Dillon” I smiled, thinking how cool. I showed the envelope to some of the guys standing around. “we got this dudes” .

Six forty. Suddenly there is a loud shout at the doorway. It’s Dustin and Hunter. “Mustangs—IT”S GAME TIME” !! All the boys light up in cheers and hollering, and do the traditional spitting of snot in each others mouth. (It’s a football thing—for luck)

From the press box come a loud cry—”Ladies and gentlemen—HERE COME YOUR MUSTANGS” !!!

The crowd goes into a deafening roar as we fly out the tunnel, and bust through the paper banner. Charlie, our horse leads the way, with his rider carrying a 6 ft American flag. The cannons sound off, and the fireworks fly high above the stadium. Un- rehearsed I make a turn to the left, with the team behind, and head straight for Mark Williams, the bands drum major. Seeing me coming, I hold my right arm up, and in passing, throw him a hard high-five. The rest of the team follows suite, and you could tell Mark was besides himself. It ain’t often the band gets recognition from a football team—but I decided they were part of the team too.

We run to the 20, then back to the 50 as discussed.