MONROE STAHR'S GAME
The team marched down the stadium tunnel.?They were nervous, listening to scrapping cleats; battle helmets gleamed before them; ahead, a crack of daylight.?The crowd’s roar; blinding sunlight; the roar, louder and louder.?
They jogged across the playing field --- Satin jerseys, flashing white shoes --- blurred in rhythmic motion.
Here then was a gray old football coach, leading a team of college trained professionals:?Stub’s recklessness.?Fletcher’s mediocrity.?Could a team built this way, survive?
The Gipper withdrew his pipe.?Loaded it, then rammed home tobacco with his thumb.?He ignited a match and thought, how different the game was now played.?In the good old days, at Quarterback, he’d scream out --- “My buddies, fight!?Kick them on their ass, boys!?Do that for me, boys… Oh! Lord!”
Time had passed since the Gipper had played his last game.?Still, he hated teams in Chicago, New York, Cleveland and Detroit…places where devils fought his dreams.?The game was savage, it dashed men on the rocks.?The game was mysterious; its rhythms were Souls that ebbed and flowed, from tossing in their graves.
The Gipper took a puff from his pipe.?His teeth clamped down.?His veins swelled.?“Get Ready!” he bellowed to his team.?Then he turned toward Monroe.?“You’ve rehearsed well, my boy.?Stand near.?You see an old man.?But I am your coach, Monroe.?I’ve trained you.?D’ya feel brave, boy?”
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“As fearless fire, Coach!”?That feeling crept over Monroe.?The field was bright and feminine.?He was masculine and bold.
The Gipper stood still.?“Oh, Monroe,” he confessed, “Sixty odd years ago it was.?Sixty years of playing games.?The slavery of it all.?Monroe, what a fool I’ve been.?Here, boy, brush my hair aside and see if I look old.?Come close.?Let me look you in the eye.?The playing field is magic, you know…”
Then he whispered to Monroe, “My Soul is in your hands!"
Monroe ran onto the field toward his teammates.?Inside their huddle he barked ----“Give them hell, boys!?Hell!?Fight Babes.?Fight Suckers, but go steady…only fight and burst your lungs for me.?Crack their bones.?Leap into the fray!”
Monroe felt flashing waves of steel.?He secured his cleats.?No other words were needed. Had death been just ahead, he never would have quit.?He was a professional football Quarterback.
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