I put on my clean, crisp uniform that didn’t even need to be washed after last week’s game. As a benchwarmer myself, my uniform never gets dirty.
I made sure to straighten my hair for tonight’s football game and tie it in a colonial pony to be sure it doesn’t get creased. While most players have their hair in fancy braids and tight buns, I’m busy thinking about what it will look like later.
I tie my shoes extra tight to be sure they don’t fall off or come untied while it gets intense on the bench. I can’t have my shoes throwing off my game.
Many players’ game warm-up consists of touches on the ball, shots, and passing – mine looks quite different. I make sure to do all my vocal exercises to be sure my throat is warmed up and ready for the yelling that is soon to come.
The fellow benchwarmers and I coordinate cheers to ensure the players on the field are motivated and locked in. We make sure our celebratory jumps and screams are perfectly in sync.
I share the pride of goals with my teammates when they score, but when we get scored on, it’s not my problem.
The halftime speeches never apply to me and nor do the fifteen-minute talks at the end of a loss.
I get to go home feeling no guilt, but still hold the burden of running the next day at practice. Not only do I get the privilege of watching the film live, but I also get to watch it a second time with the whole team to analyze what they did wrong.
I bet if I went in, we would have won.
