Grills are lit as early as 8 o’clock in the morning. Canopies and games are unfolded into the parking lots. Hundreds of hot dogs, burgers, steaks, chicken wings, and other “party foods” are unwrapped and devoured. Groups of people flock to a central location just to get a glimpse of what Saturday afternoon has become in
crisp fall day, where red and yellow can be seen for miles. But it’s not from
the changing of the leaves. It’s where people come to cheer on a team, a unit,
a herd, a brigade. It’s where people come to show their spirit and to be a part
of this family. It’s where people come to show America pride with three simple words,
“Fear The Turtle.” Maryland
Before you know it, game time comes. Swarms and crowds walk to the main event, like a mother ship calling us home. Once inside the stadium, guns, cannons, and fireworks start the show. The team comes pouring out of the tunnel, but not before each player stops to rub the bronze terrapin for “good luck.” The team huddles and jumps up and down, hit each other on the helmet, and maybe even do some last minute stretching before the war begins. This is a place where boys become men. Where a uniform turns into armor. Where blood, sweat, and tears are left on the battlefield. And We Must Protect This House…
Until the next step bloggers...