Let's get ready to rumble

Just take a second—inhale deeply and slowly exhale—and enjoy the moment. This is the glorious, tranquil time before kids all over this state strap up and smash the crap out of each other until only one bruised and battered clan in each classification is left standing.

Football season is almost here.

It’s beautiful really. Take a group of kids and fire them in a kiln of August heat, cooking the soft clay into a solid piece of unyielding ferocity. Then take what has become a singular unit, living and breathing in sync, and line it up against all comers to see who will let go of the will to fight first.

There are few experiences that can match sitting in a locker room in the moments before a football game. It has to be similar to the moments before a gigantic brawl. Two gangs standing in each others' way. The only options are to bash your way through, or lie down and be bashed. You are accountable for every person in the room, and they are accountable for you.

Let’s go get us some boys.

Football coaches, especially at the highest levels of the game, pride themselves on complex schemes requiring an MIT education to crack. But break the game down and it will come down to one factor—the team that out-hits the other will be the winner.

That’s it. The group that hits the other hardest is your winner in almost all cases. The team that hands out the biggest beating is the team that was able to, “execute.”

Tallyho.

The premise of football is simple and pure. My crew has given an awful lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get into that end zone, so that’s where we are going. If you think you are man enough to stop us, go ahead and try.

You’ve been warned.

In football, the line in the sand is not proverbial. It is marked in the field by the referee over and over again throughout the course of the game. Opponents line up on either side of it, snarl at each other and give the evil eye, psyching themselves up for the immanent collision.

Cross this line and see what happens.

The constant redrawing of the line provides an unbelievable opportunity for redemption. Find yourself staring up at the stadium lights after a play? Don’t worry. Everyone will regroup, the line will be redrawn, and the opportunity for payback is there if you want it.

This opportunity makes the cheap shot unexplainable, and inexcusable. If you have been wronged, you are perfectly within the rules of the game to line up and put a hurting on the offending party. Revenge is only one play away.

Using your body as a weapon, apply enough blunt-force trauma to take the opponent’s will to fight back, and the game is yours.

Almost as beautiful as the brutality of the game, is the way entire communities stop everything to support it, further adding to the gang mentality of the sport. Towns go dark except for the stadium lights as everyone shows up in full throat to watch the mêlée. And it’s personal.

In a society that seems to be shifting more and more to the, “let’s outlaw recess because little Jimmy might get singled out,” state of mind, football endures. For four 12-minute quarters every Friday night, people are able to put down the bubble wrap and duct tape to take a break from childproofing the world and cheer on some good old competitive violence.

And they do it for a love of football, a game in which the weak link on a team will be singled out. Count on it. There is no place to hide. There is no right field to stick a player and hope for the best.

The game is an opportunistic carnivore. The lion does not pick out the biggest, strongest, fastest gazelle in the herd. It finds the slowest, weakest gazelle so that feasting on its succulent flesh can be done easily. If the opponent has success pounding the ball your way, you had better toughen up quick. The onslaught will not stop unless you find a way to stop it.

Within this cauldron of carnage is an unexpected surprise—the deep respect that only comes from being locked in a violent competition with someone. There are very few things that measure up to the guts and dedication required of contact sports. No one except your opponent will ever know how much you gave to the competition.

Of course, with people slamming into each other comes some intense rivalries. But when the game is over—win or lose—you find yourself staring at a person who matched you blow-for-blow until neither of you had anything left. There is a brotherhood of those brave enough to jump into the fray.

So get those mouthpieces molded and helmets fitted. The first two locomotives to collide are Kapaun and Wichita Northwest at 7:00 p.m. on Sept. 2 at Northwest.