Fifty years paints that football field in golden sunlight;
\nthe gray stone arches of Hart House echoed grunts
\nimpact and college cheers. Born too late to go to war,
\nwe knew some proof of manhood could be found there;
\nso we drove ourselves through repeated twilight drills
\nin pain and exhaustion and exhilaration in honour of some
\nunspoken code in autumn deference to real causes.<\/p>\n
I was big, and the summer’s work in the bush had
\nleft me strong enough to defensive play man over
\ncentre and offensive tackle\u2014 I’d never touched the ball,
\nnor the bench; but there was lots of hitting and
\nlots of pain exhaustion and exhilaration\u2014in honour
\nof some unspoken code in autumn deference to
\nreality as viewed from our little ivoried Hart House.<\/p>\n
On the particular day that I remember, I had run over centre
\nwith the ease, several times causing him to fumble the ball.
\nI was enjoying this mayhem, and getting cocky enough
\nto start taunting him as we lined up face-to-face.
\nI should have known our opponents would not allow
\nme to continue destroying their plays. “This centre
\nis a cream p\u2014<\/p>\n
a fist smashes up into my solar plexus: I cannot breathe;
\nI fall to the ground; I see golden tints on the edges of
\npuffy little clouds drifting in their deep blue celestial home;
\nthere is one that reminds me of my toy tow truck\u2014
\nmy coach’s face stares down at me: his eyes are huge;
\nhe is asking me if I passed out; I can’t speak because
\nI can’t breathe. I have been wounded in battle; the
\nnobility of it makes me want to feast in Valhalla; I want
\nto cry and cry of the warrior! but I cannot breathe.
\n<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n\u2014oof!”<\/p>\n
The clouds are edged in gold on this autumn day
\nas I think back and realize that the real gold is
\nin the smile that frames my face as I think back.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"A little violence in my tale today. (#963) Continue reading