So I had every opportunity to go to the Florida game. And I didn't. A couple of my friends have ragged me about it endlessly, but I'm sticking to my guns. Sometimes, a man has to have some principles. I had reached the end of my rope with this Ole Miss team. I wasn't seeing the effort, the realization of potential that would have inspired me to drive 12 hours with Ivory Tower and his lame country music to watch my Rebels get waxed by the best team in the country. So I didn't go. I stayed behind and engaged in an athletic endeavor of my own. I played Ultimate Frisbee. I wrapped my broken left hand into a sweaty, medical tape club (Patrick Willis style) and vented my football frustrations by owning the shit out of some motherfuckers in flatball. It felt good; being trapped in the stands while you helplessly watch your team lose is pretty agonizing. I'm not a terrific athlete by any means, but it feels good for the actions and decisions to be your own, to feel the burn of a full sprint in your legs as you pull past another player and burn him on your way to the endzone. I was at peace...
Flash forward. May. New York city subway, 9:00 AM on Sunday morning. Ghost and I are leaving the sports bloggers' conference, bleary-eyed, surveying the riff-raff that usually occupies the tubes on a morning such as this. We're creeping along, stop after stop, when another train pulls up adjacent to ours. The doors clanger open, and a portly, poorly composed fellow stands up like a bolt. He darts his glance to the other faces on the train, and hiking up his cargo shorts, loudly proclaims "IT'S THE NUMBA THREE EXPRESS, (racial epithet excluded)!!!!!!!!!" He runs to the other train. Ghost and I follow. At some point, a month or two later, we're talking about the Florida game, and the conversation turns to that one play. Third and five. And Ghost pegs it. Shay Hodge. 86 yards for the score. The #3 Express.
Back to the barroom full of sweaty guys. Hodge blows by Major Wright. The room erupts. I high five someone. Hard. With my broken hand. Ow. But it didn't matter. The win was eminent. This one felt different. I want to say that it was at that point that I knew we had it. Thanks, Shay. That was pretty badass.
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