Fourth and Short

2002-05-01 @ 5:09 p.m.

Rumbling down those sidelines on a 4th and short. "Pitch man! Pitch man!" They shout as I break another tackle and head for the end zone. "I can carry my team to victory on my own!" I grumble and twist and turn and jump over a massive pile of bodies reaching for my future mangled corpse. The clock winds down :02, :01, no time left. If I score we win the game. It's all up to me. Up ahead I see three massive opponent tacklers. Exaughsted from the previous manuvers I decide to plow my entire weight into them. I'm ten yards away now. I'm hit! I begin to fall to the ground, but my left hand breaks my fall. The three grab for my jersey and legs and I scream in agony, still plunging toward the promised land. Soon the entire eleven players arrive, making my speed toward my destination decrease dramatically. With seven players jumping onto my back and seven hands reaching for my legs, I can't take it anymore. I'm at the five yard line now and I am falling....rapidly. At the four, the three, the two...the ONE. I plunge forward, trying to break the plane...

The game is over and I lay there, one foot away from my goal.

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