Dream of Being a Giant

You get a letter in the mail. Come to the Giants Minicamp and get ready to play some football. This is somewhat confusing. You haven’t played football in almost 17 years. You read the letter again, this makes no sense, you study the name, and it jumbles and the letters move all around so you can’t be sure it says you, but it has to, why would you be holding it? You reread the letter and without actually doing any reading you learn it expects you to be at the camp no later than the date listed.

Which is today.

Which is today!

And somehow you are there.

Standing with men taller then you.

Somehow older then you, though you are now older than most NFL players currently playing football professionally.

These men dwarf you and you think about how bad it is going to hurt to block them, hit them, tackle them.

You think about the pain of a hyperextended knee. A knee going the wrong way. Swelling with blood and the bone grating needle used to drain it. You think if this is going to happen you might as well try to get a knee brace. Two would be preferable, like you use to have in High school.

You leave the class being taught around a white board. None of the play designs make any sense on it anyway. You still have no clue what position you are playing. You have no clue what arrow is you.

In fact you have no clue what the arrows are doing. Some face out. Some face in. You don’t think there are 11 arrows on either side of what you guess is the line of scrimmage. It’s the Pros maybe they do things different.

As you leave to try and find a knee braces you notice one of the other groups has a woman in it. A small short haired woman in her 50’s. She looks motivated and asks questions about what is being drawn on the white board in front of her group.

Somehow she is competition.

This doesn’t make any sense.

It also makes no sense that you walk out into the parking lot to find someone to give you knee braces.

You get lost because honestly you have no idea what or who you are looking for.

On the way back you see someone that looks like a coach.

He asks, “what are you doing.”

You answer, nervous immediately, you don’t like authority, “I am looking for knee braces.”

“I might be able to get you one, what position do you play.”

“I think I may need two,” and “you know I am not sure what position I am going to play.”

He looks at you a moment, and says “hold on let’s find out” and disappears.

Somehow you are back at the white board again. The symbols make even less sense. The coach looks at you and its obvious you are expected to play and know whats being discussed. You feel stress building in your chest. How are you going to play if you don’t know where you are going to play or what will be expected of you when you get on the field.

You rationalize it to yourself, I will fake it, I will get out on the field and pretend I know what to do.

A tap on your shoulder.

You turn and a list is shoved under your face.

What was your name again?

You tell the voice, big and booming, what your name is.

The list disappears and then reappears again a moment later.

You think you read your name and tell the voice this, but next to it is not your picture, it is the imagine of a man with a tiny head and a huge neck, a real pro ball player, this is not you, and it is too late to tell the voice.

You see his positions, they are just letters to you, except O.L, outside linebacker you think, you have never played outside linebacker. You try to tell the voice. He shifts the paper as if looking at it also and you see the name, it is now for sure not yours. The letters jump and move around but they don’t belong in your name. A mistake has happened. All you know is you don’t want the voice to know you are there by mistake. You want to be there. It doesn’t matter how painful it is going to be.

And the practice facility disappears.

You are outside of the stadium.

Your teammates are ready for a game dressed in Giants blue and padded up. You are wearing… knee braces, but not the knee braces you needed and no pads.

You can’t tell anyone, maybe this is proof they know you don’t belong, so you begin a search for pads, so if called on to play you will be ready.

You find a bag and sort through it, the game is about to start and you need something. You slip a pair of black baggy pants over your legs and then a regular pair of football pants, but no pads. You don’t even have a jersey or shoulder pads or a helmet, but you are ready to play. You know you will stick your nose in and block someone, tackle someone. It is going to hurt and it may be only one play and you will be out, hospitilized, but you are going to try.

As you start to walk back to your team you see the old short haired lady walk up and start digging through the same bag.

“Pads?” You ask though it is obvious she isn’t wearing any.

She nods, digging.

Then you wake up.