Remember the Titans
The bus seemed to be fuelled off the silent determination and excitement that ebbed off the Titans’ football team in waves. When the bus pulled up, that determination could be felt by everyone in the stadium. Thirty men piled out but didn’t pay attention to the stadium, their minds were elsewhere.
Power surged off the men endlessly. Henry Carr, a group of boys clad in powder blue and white, were overcome by a wave of red and black as the Titans took the field.
One of the referees blew his whistle and the teams ran to their respective benches. Game plans and tactics were set out as quick as could be. With most of the Titans in their final year they wanted this to be finally their day of glory. The referee blew his whistle once more and the players marched out to battle.
The boys in blue kicked the ball to the Titans and the game’s carnage began. Number 2 for the Titans pulled the ball into his chest and took off like lightning, weaving his way through countless bodies before he was taken down just inside the fifty-yard line. He jumped to his feet and let out a passionate war cry that his team quickly joined in on. To say that the Titans were excited to win was the understatement of the century.
Before the first half came to a close, the Titans managed to score a beautiful touchdown and squeeze in two field goals--putting them in the lead for the first time all game. But not by much.
Despite the loss of a few comrades on the battle field, several Titans’ motivational shouts proved just how sure they were of their pending victory. The boys in blue stared at the Titans like they’d lost their minds when their cheer included a nickname; a bite-sized snack from Tim Horton’s.
The Titans kicked the ball to the boys in blue and the war picked up where it left off; a back and forth bloodbath; fighting for each and every inch; fighting to keep their dream alive.
With twenty-nine seconds on the clock, boys in blue snapped the ball and the Titans scrambled forward to shut the play down. A boy in blue pulled the ball to his chest and took off down the field, evading tackles left and right.
The men in black pushed through the masses, bowling people over in hot pursuit of the ball and its carrier. As the boy continued along down the field the Titan with number 33 emblazoned on his back leapt forward to grab onto him. Only his arms encircled a fellow Titans’ waist and the pair tumbled to the ground in a bundle of rage as the boy continued unscathed down the sideline.
A few other Titans managed to grab a hold of the boy but it was too late, he was already in the end zone. A triumphant cheer erupted from the blue team’s bench as they kicked the extra point. The Titans tried to pull themselves together with less than twenty seconds left in the game. They managed to get within spitting distance of the blue team’s end zone, but just couldn’t tear through the defence to score.
The final whistle blew. It could not be heard over the Titan’s dreams falling – shattering. Several of them aggressively pulled their helmets off and stormed off the field with tears of frustration welling in their eyes.
Even though the medals hung around their necks they refused to believe they’d come in second yet again.
As the Titans walked across the field to leave the stadium, giving a wide berth to the celebrating team, the sun began its slow descent in the sky. It bathed all the players on the field in a warm but depressing glow. Its rays shimmered in the tears that furiously cascaded down the cheeks of the Titans; it did nothing to warm the vacant feeling in their chests. A Titan was even so bold as to pitch his medal across the field before his helmet followed suite.
“So,” number 34 cleared his throat, a smirk stretching across his face before he clapped one of his comrades on the back, “…rugby?”
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