The Football Field The football field, a place of war. Where lush emerald grass hogs the ground where we step. The roar of the battle chants from the crowd fills my ears like water fills a basin. Eyes focused almost stone solid looking for an opportunity to rip at the enemies that dare to oppose us. The taste of salt as the sweat drops slide along my skin as if they were racing for gold. My jersey and pants almost tight enough to make me think they were just another part of me. My cleats are there to drill into the ground so we can mine our way down the field looking to strike gold. The lines white as chalk lay like dead soldiers on across a war zone that is our football field. Every ten gruesome yards fought out. The crack of helmets are