Jimmy Choo Shoulder Bags

Jimmy Choo Hobo Bags,

YES VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS AND WE CAN STILL PLAY JUST AS GOOD AS WE USED TO…

This is a true story. The names of the teams, the place and date have been intentionally left out to preclude the possibility of our team trophy being taken away because of the negligible contribution of two old men.

For years I had this recurring dream. It was always the same. I am in my college locker room at half-time when my Coach comes up and grabs me by the shoulder and says, "Boy, am I glad to see you. We need you to suit up and help us out tonight!" He pulls me over to a locker with my name on it and says, "We have your old gear all ready for you!" I look and there is my old number 85 hanging up with all my equipment. After all these years the Coach needs me to suit up!

Each dream was identical. There was never any variation. I start suiting up, get taped, strap on my pads and pull on my jersey. The Coach fires us up with a last minute Knute Rockne speech. We lock hands as a team and shout our battle cry together. Then everybody is yelling, jumping up and down, banging the lockers with their forearms and helmets, hitting each others shoulder pads and storming out the door. Outside it is a crisp, clear, cold night with halos around the bright lights shining on the field. You can see your breath in the air. The crowd is screaming and stomping in the stands as we come running on to the grass. We run through our warm ups and drills in preparation for the coming sixty minute contest.

I run out and line up with the kickoff team. I am unbelievably pumped up and ready for battle. The Ref holds his hand up and we all lean forward in anticipation. Jimmy Choo Shoulder Bags , The whistle blows and we charge off the line. Then at the moment the kicker makes contact with the ball I suddenly wake up!

I used to lie in bed with eyes closed tight, still as death, trying to fall back asleep. Desperately attempting to get back to the dream ? back into the game, dying to make it past the kickoff, but it was no use. It was always the same. The Coach tells me he needs me, I get taped and dressed, run out under the lights, do warm-ups, line up for the kickoff, the game starts and I am wide awake. No matter what I did or how hard I tried ? as soon as the ball was kicked I was awake for good. Nothing would bring back the game.

I don't know how many times I had the dream over the years. More than I can count. No doubt Freud would have had a theory about it, but I just wanted to get past the opening kickoff and get out there and mix it up one more time. I think I just missed playing the game.

As each new season started I would get amped about football. Heck, every time I smelled cut grass from a lawn being mowed it reminded me of the smell of grass smashed into my faceguard at the bottom of a pile and I'd get horny for football. Each fall, watching and envying the players, I would inevitably imagine what it would be like to play one more time. What if just like in my dream the Coach came to me and said he needed me to play? Over the years I had plenty of help, too. My buddies would sit around with me fantasizing and boasting of how we'd play if given another chance - engaging in the old guy's favorite sport of pre-season mutual delusion.

You know how it goes ? whatever your sport is. You don't have to be good , just capable/ but you have to love it. Long after ability fades and our bodies begin to degrade we kid ourselves into thinking we still have something left. We look in the mirror holding in our gut and pretend that if we hit the gym real hard we could get it back enough to play in some obscure venue. We nurture the delusion until one day we wake up and have to face up to the realization that the dream is over and the chance will never come again. Jimmy Choo Tote Bags , It is a hard truth we all have to eventually accept. Never again will we strap on our battle gear and step onto the playing field. Never again will we feel the fear, pain and sheer exhilaration of a hard fought game. Never, ever again.

For me it came one cruel day when I had just stepped out of the shower. I looked in the mirror and realized that I looked just like my Dad naked! ( When you cross that line you
KNOW your time has come and gone). But even that horrible scare didn't stop me from dreaming about it or imagining what it would be like to put the pads on for one more round. It's because of one of those Man-gene things ? we can't help it. Jimmy Choo Hobo Bags ,

There is something about the camaraderie, the anticipation of a game, playing in the mud rain and heat, trash talking across the line, Coaches pushing us in practice until we were hard and tough and eager for contact. Above all else I think we just missed having a manly contract with the other team to go out on the gridiron for one hour and physically battle until the final second ? may the best team win. There is something special about football that touches something deep in all of us - sort of an inner warrior. Refined by centuries of civilization, but still there, that hearkens back to a primitive need to defend the tribe and territory. It is in all of us and football especially seems to trigger the instinctual awakening that occurs whenever the need arises to protect our turf and defeat the enemy. .