Football

For my family, football is more than a game....it's a way of life.  Since 1999, when my oldest son was six years old, we have spent most fall evenings at Lake Waterford, watching the boys go from green and inexperienced, to fierce competitors over a course of a few months is nothing short of amazing.  We have had our share of mediocre seasons as a family, but we have also experienced some spectacular seasons where alot of hard work paid off in a championship run.

This was, for all intents and purposes, Dakota's first real season of football.  He had played when he was very young (3-5), but he didn't like it and really had no part in the game other than standing on the field.  Now, at 9, he has accomplished so much. He is playing under his father's coaching and he has gone from scared and timid to an aggressive, intimidating offensive lineman who is a force to be reckoned with.  I am really excited to see what the future holds for him.

This season we went undefeated for the first seven games of our 90lb league.  No one expected it, but the boys grew, learning football and life lessons together and becoming a football family.  We lost the last regular game of our regular season, but still finished in the top eight of our state in our division and won our conference.  Last week we played the first round of the playoffs and won big.  The kids were so excited and looked forward to game two.  This week, in round two, we played a team that we had faced and beaten three times previously.  This match up, however, would not go as well.  The Bulldogs scored early and we kept looking for our big break....that one big play where our running back would break away to the outside and run untouched down the field for the score.  It wasn't to be, however.  We played hard, both offensively and defensively, but never were able to get to the outside or score.  We went into the half still down by a touchdown.  The second half came and slowly went and still, no one scored...not the Bulldogs again, but also not the Chargers.  At the four minute warning we knew we were in trouble. You could see the strain on the players' faces.  They wanted this so bad....but it was slipping through their hands like sand.  They did everything they could do....everything that their little nine year old bodies would allow them, but this time, we came up short.

As my husband, the head coach, gathered them together after the game there were lots of tears.  Tough little boys with eye black smeared on their dirty faces, devastated by the loss.  My son was crushed and his sobs were heartbreaking to hear.  My husband said all the right things and let them know he was proud of them.  The parents cheered for them.  We handed out trophies....but still their little hearts were broken.

And then we moved on.  We went out to our decorated cars and caravaned to the Lake, our team's home, and we had fun.  The boys went out with a football and played pickup ball.  The parents cooked and talked and then we all had burgers and dogs and cupcakes and chips.  It was quieter than it would have been had we experienced a victory, but there were smiles instead of tears and they learned that no matter what, life goes on.


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