Never Never Neverr would I have guessed that I could have been so completely upset and devastated by one football game. In fact I was so hurt that even now over a year later, I still feel the pain of it. Let me bring you back to that day on December 1st 2007, the day WVU played PITT in the 100th Backyard Brawl to date.
There is only one minute to go. I glance at the clock and again we have posession. We are heading down to our goal zone. That simple rectangluar patch of grass that changes lives forever and built grown men spend all their time preventing the other team from entering. I am standing behind the goal on our side, a member of WVU’s Marching Band. The view is so pure I feel nothing else around me but the game. My fists are clenched in the freezing air, my body rigid. I can see my breath as it takes a rythmic beat and I feel my body slow down in time as everything else fades away. My eyes are big, there are only three seconds left and one play allowed. We are close, but anything can happen. Will we make history? I look expectantly, waiting for the miracle.
The play begins. I catch my breath and hold it, although I don’t even realize. I arch up on my toes, which are completely frozen by this point as I strain to see the ball. My man, #2 is in the end zone and #5 throws it. The ball sails through the air as the time ticks to zero. #2 jumps up in the air but at that second the other team comes in and tips the ball out of his reach. They both fall, and we do not have the victory.
I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Absolute devestation surrounds me. I stare dumbly at the clock transfixed by the glowing numbers, willing them to change. My hands drop to my sides, I can hear the screams of anguish because the home team just lost their bid to greatness, the National Championship, our ticket to New Orleans.
I rock back down to my feet. Immediately the numbness starts to settle in. My toes are stiff and unmoving, My fingers feel like they are going to break. I let my surroundings wash back over me as I tune into the crowd. We will not be playing celebration. Tears start to well up in my eyes, they slide down my cheeks and I can’t even help it. This is the first time I’ve ever cried over football. I’ve never felt such total loss.
Everywhere there is heartache. I can clearly remember the faces. Everyone is in shock, and those of us who understand this outcome, shake their heads in disappointment. I turn back to the field, and no matter what, I can not hide the devastation from my face. I have become a true fan. As everyone starts filing out of the stadium with their heads down, I know that this is the end. And I hate it.
To this day when that game is brought up, I immediately feel these emotions run through me. Although I hold back, this outcome might be a sore subject for a very very long time.
Confessions of a Writer