As much as I would like to believe that Clarke Kent (Superman) will be coming to Candlestick Park some day, not even he could make it in my Yard. But I have seen 53 guys dedicated to changing the culture in the Bay area. You won't find any phone booths in our locker room or any women and children. Instead you will become witness to an environment like none other. You will see men transforming themselves into modern day Glaidators.
For a short while the eyes of Christians are blood shot with rage and hate. We tape everything from our ankles, knees, wrist, fingers and various other parts of our body that might get injured. Our shields are our helmets, our armour our pads, and anyone who wears a different uniform are the enemy. As we enter into our arena the fans cheer for big hits, and the bone clinching tackles.
No one team leaves the field on Sunday without being somewhat dismantled. Players who enter their training facilities on Monday are greeted by doctors, athletic trainers, and other medical staff ready to put them back together. No matter what our record is, we have to perform. Nobody wants to hear about a sore ankle or a brusied knee. They want to see us compete.
If one of us goes down, they will cheerfully applaud your backup. In the NFL it's all about the Players on Sunday. Coaches don't cross the white lines, players do. Sure they are responsible for the game plan and spend over 60 to 70 hours a week to give us information on our opposition. But it is still all about the Players.
Fictional characters like Superman, Spiderman, and Blade could never make it in my Yard, because there is nothing fictional about the pain I feel two days after a game, or the temperature of the cold tub after practice, or the way my finger feels after a game. This is my Yard, not too many people choose to enter the gates or even drive by, many just sit and watch and tell what would they do if they were here.
For a short while the eyes of Christians are blood shot with rage and hate. We tape everything from our ankles, knees, wrist, fingers and various other parts of our body that might get injured. Our shields are our helmets, our armour our pads, and anyone who wears a different uniform are the enemy. As we enter into our arena the fans cheer for big hits, and the bone clinching tackles.
No one team leaves the field on Sunday without being somewhat dismantled. Players who enter their training facilities on Monday are greeted by doctors, athletic trainers, and other medical staff ready to put them back together. No matter what our record is, we have to perform. Nobody wants to hear about a sore ankle or a brusied knee. They want to see us compete.
If one of us goes down, they will cheerfully applaud your backup. In the NFL it's all about the Players on Sunday. Coaches don't cross the white lines, players do. Sure they are responsible for the game plan and spend over 60 to 70 hours a week to give us information on our opposition. But it is still all about the Players.
Fictional characters like Superman, Spiderman, and Blade could never make it in my Yard, because there is nothing fictional about the pain I feel two days after a game, or the temperature of the cold tub after practice, or the way my finger feels after a game. This is my Yard, not too many people choose to enter the gates or even drive by, many just sit and watch and tell what would they do if they were here.
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