the bench player

I had a book on my lap.

Now this was the worst place to bring book. You could get booed for bringing a book here. But it was a security blanket for me. I clutched it tightly, as we wormed our way through the crowd.

We had seats with a good view of the field.

The energy was like a building under construction, growing brick by brick.

It was UH vs. Memphis college football.

I felt like I was in the Coliseum. The crowds were gnashing their teeth and drooling for their team’s victory. But not in an inhumane nasty way like a gladiator fight.

The teams were neck and neck. No one was sitting. UH was about to win.

Across the field, I saw one of the bench players get on a top of a platform and turn toward the crowd behind him. He ripped off his shirt, wrapped it around his fist, and pumped it high in the air in circles, channeling and egging on the momentous, earth-shattering cries of the fans.

That was it.

I zeroed in on that moment, folded it like a piece of paper, and put it in my pocket.

That’s what I crave daily.

His energy. The attention.

I like to channel energy, be the center of attention, and inspire energy into and out of other people.

I am a high energy person stuck in a moderating person’s body.

And that sucks.

THE END!

Or not…

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