I took a deep breath and let the cool air fill my lungs. It was a brisk autumn day. Strike that, it wasn't brisk. It was downright chilly. It didn't help that the football gear I was wearing didn't provide much protection from the cold air.

I was wearing the royal blue jersey of my high school. The Smithsville Knights, of Smithsville Minnesota. I wore number 57. On the back of my jersey was my last name in gray font, "Corbank". Our school colors, Royal blue and silver (actually just light gray). We wore the colored jerseys because we were the visitors at this game. The other team wore white and brick red colored jerseys. The colors of our much hated rivals, Hill Point Rattle Snakes. A preppy, rich school with school uniforms and stuff like that.

Throughout the existence of our two schools we had faced off on the football field 27 times. This would be number 28. They had won 13 times, we had won 14 times. They had a shot to tie up the record with this game but we didn't what that to happen. Football was the one thing we had over these rich kids. And they very, very much had a chance of winning... dang it all!

So the score is 21-21, tied. Fourth quarter with only 36 seconds left. They had possession of the ball on the our own four yard line, yikes. Although it was fourth down so all we had to do was stop them on this one play and take the game into overtime. Hopefully, we could beat them there.

On the previous play it was third down with four yards. They tired to pass the ball into the end zone but I managed to get a hand on the ball and knock it to the ground, ending the play. You'd think my teammates would be glad that I made the play but their respect for me was as thin as our coaches hairline. Now at fourth down I stood in a huddle with my, oh so kind teammates.

I was the middle linebacker and captain of our team's defense because at very least my coach showed me some respect. I looked over the top of the huddle towards our coach for our play. He gave me a signal for a play called, Shield Play 37. Basically, it was a pass stopping play in the end zone. It was nothing fancy but it was effective. I relayed my coach's orders back to my team, "Okay boys, lets get it done. Shield play 37."

J.K. Donaldson, our teams left linebacker gave me a nasty look through the face mask of his royal blue helmet. He, like most of the students of my school didn't care much for me. He was one of the worst ones though. He often took it to a whole different level. He expressed that here in the huddle of all places, "Don't mess this up!"

I rolled my eyes as we broke the huddle and got into our line. I stood back in the end zone waiting until the opposing quarterback snapped the ball. There I would wait until I saw the ball was passed into the air. Then I would make my move. At least that was what the played called for but that changed.

As I stood there with the home team crying out a supportive chant for their team, I noticed as the quarterback was calling out his play to his team, he locked eyes with me. It wasn't just a passing glance but he was looking at me with reason.

He must have noticed he was staring at me because he quickly looked away and tried to act like he was looking at me for no apparent reason. I already figured him out though. He wasn't passing. The quarterback was going to try a sneak play and run it right up the middle. I was his main obstacle and that was why he locked eyes with me.

Normally, if I was in a better team, I'd call an audible and change the play. I knew though there wasn't a chance in hell that my team would ever listen to my orders unless it came from the coach. So why bother calling an audible when my team wouldn't listen? The only thing I'd accomplish is revealing that I knew something was up and tipping my hand to the opponent. So I just shut up and waited.

So I leaned forward, getting ready to blitz. I took another cold breath of air, and anxiously gripped my hands into fists. Then, he snapped the ball. The quarterback took the ball into his hands and the play began. He dropped back as if he was going to pass the ball. He fooled everyone but me. While my teammates fell back, I charged forward. So did the quarterback. He tucked the ball into his arms and began running up the middle between a gap in the front line. One my teammates knocked an opposing player onto the ground in front of the rushing QB's running lane. The QB had to hurdle over them and leapt into the air. I lowered my head and leapt at the same time he did. We were both airborne but that didn't last for very long. We met in the air with my right shoulder slamming into his stomach and cradled arms. I knocked him backwards and far away from his much desired end zone.

The next thing I knew he was on his back and I had landed on my hands on knees. I looked down at the QB with wide open eyes. The ball was not in his hands. I forced the fumble! I quickly looked up and saw the football rolling away from me. J.K was first to reach the ball. He scooped it up and began running towards our opponent's end zone. There wasn't anybody even near him and he easily ran the fumble back into their end zone for a touchdown. We went up, 27-21. Our defense ran over to J.K and lifted him into the air in celebration. I ran over to join them but they quickly ran off to out sidelines to continue the celebration without me. Why was I surprised?

Our team kicked in the extra point after the touchdown making the score 28-21 with only eleven seconds left in the game. Our team punted the ball. They returned the ball to their own 33rd yard line. Our defense took the field one last time as the the opposing team tried a desperate Hail Mary pass. I knocked the ball down once again and the game ended with the clock reaching zero. We won. Our entire team charged onto the field in celebration as the opposing team slunk off the field in defeat. The home fans sat back into their seats in bitter disappointment. They booed us as we celebrated, or I should say they did. My teammates were happy and joyous. They didn't like me. Simple as that. I would only bring them down. I was used to it by now.

So I removed my helmet and walked over to our bench. My sweat covered, medium length, stringy, dark brown hair, was plastered across my face and head. Our very empty bench. Why would anyone be on the bench when they just won the biggest game of the season so far? Well, anybody besides me that is. I watched the other players and cheerleaders celebrate. I watched them with my eyes. My crimson eyes. Yeah, crimson. It was unusual. One reason why I was chastised by my schoolmates.

The other reason I was picked on, being that I live in a dump. No, that wasn't a description of a crappy house I live in or anything . It was a very literal dump. A garbage dump. Well, I didn't live in the dump exactly but it was more of the building near the entrance of the dump. And it was on dump property.

I had a summer job and everything so it wasn't like I wore raged and out of date clothing. I bought my own. There was even a gym nearby that I bought a subscription to just so I could use the showers in the morning and store my clothing in my locker. So I didn't smell like the dump or anything. I didn't act poor and I didn't smell. But it didn't matter. I was a teenager living in a literal garbage dump and had freakish eyes. So I was the butt on many jokes and pranks. The good news was that whenever a new kid moved in they would be the target of the jokes and take the load off my back. Only for a few days though. Then it was back to me again. Oh well.

It wasn't so bad before a year ago. Last year is when it really got terrible. You see it was Halloween and the then head cheerleader decided for her costume she would dress as me. Red contact lenses and hobo like clothing. That was when I go the nickname, Bloodshot Bum. BSB for short. She came up with the name due to my red eyes. Like being bloodshot from being drunk or high or something. The bum part because well, I was living in a dump. BSB.

Oh boy, did that name stick. You can bet I wanted to retaliate. I was taught better though. I wanted revenge but I never did anything about it. Turns out I didn't have to. I don't believe much in karma but ten months later she wound up giving birth to twins... at the age of seventeen. Teen pregnancy wasn't a laughing matter... but for me, this time, it was a chuckling matter.

At first I thought she ruined her life but maybe it changed her for the best. Just two weeks ago she sat down with me at lunch, nobody ever sat with me at lunch after that Halloween and even before then, not so much. She sat with me and asked for forgiveness. I was taken completely off guard. I was a nice guy and forgave her. She put me through allot but I wouldn't hold it against her if she was sorry about it. Sometimes people make stupid mistakes. She was proof of that in more ways than one. Then I asked for her forgiveness for chuckling when I heard she was preggers with twins. She did. We were actually getting to be friends, my only friend my own age, until she moved to a place where it would be easier to raise her twins with her parents. Oh well. I think we both learned allot from each other. Live and learn.

I reached over and grabbed a paper cup of generic energy drink, generic cherry flavor, and took a few gulps just as Coach Gardiner, my head coach, left the celebration on the field and joined me for a sit on the bench. He patted me on the back and gave me some words of encouragement, "Well done, kiddo. I know it hasn't been easy. Yet, you continue to play as though you had the full support of your team. You are mature beyond your years."

I stared that nearly bald headed man in the eyes and smiled, "Thanks coach. You say this to me like it's the end of the season. This is only the third game. We got games left!"

He laughed as he pat me on the back again. Then stood up and began walking back to the locker rooms. He shouted back to me without turning his head backward, "True. Hit the showers and get some sleep! Practice is in three days. You better be ready, grunt!"

I laughed whenever he called us grunts. He sometimes went into the boot camp, army instructor mode where he tried acting all touch and called us "grunts", "pukes", and "maggots". He wasn't very good at it though. He was just too nice to be tough. As I watched him walk back I noticed someone standing in the shadows of the home bleachers.

The person was an old man in a large, brown, overcoat. He had full white hair tied back into a ponytail and a gray goatee. He looked light hearted and friendly, but tough and rugged at the same time. He was munching down on a hot dog. He must have been at least seventy years old but had the physique of a forty year old. I smiled when I saw him.

I stood up and walked over to join him under the bleacher. When I came face to face with him I put my hands on my hips and grinned, "What are you doing here old man?"

He didn't answer right away. He waited until he finished his hot dog and then wiped any ketchup off his chin onto the sleeve of his coat. He then tossed his wrapper into a nearby trash can. He matched me by putting his hands on his hips and grinned right back, "I took a bus. Got a problem with that, Roan?"

Ugh, yeah. My name is Roan. Full name, Roan Annar Corbank. I think it's Norse or something. It's weird, I know. "Checking up on me?" I asked.

"I can't enjoy one of your games?" He asked right back. He didn't really give me a chance to answer back though as he kept talking, "Good call on the blitz rush at the end there. It won the game."

"Thanks. Though it wasn't really difficult. The quarterback had a terrible pokerface."

"Don't sell yourself short. You read him well. Just like a soldier in combat."

I rolled me eyes. It was always combat references with this guy. This guy was my legal guardian as I was an orphan. My parents died long ago. I don't remember anything about them. The only thing I do know is that this man, Tadmor Rorth, was an old friend of the family. I know, Tadmor Rorth was an odd name. Who was I to comment about somebody else's name though?

...ANYWAYS, he was poor and lived in a garbage dump. I lived there with him. He was always trying to teach me how to be a better person and also training. Always with the training. Football, fighting, agility, strength training, all of it. Meh, it wasn't like I had anything better to do. He was just a very protective man. He was the reason why I would call myself more mature than others my age. He forced me to be so.

He was very jovial and very open but at the same time I could tell he was always thinking of something else. Something he didn't want to, or couldn't tell me. Something that was big enough to be on his mind at every moment. I wasn't sure about his past and I never asked but I'm sure he'd seen some things. Maybe he was a war veteran. Maybe that was the reason for his battle references. I dunno. As much as I wanted to know, I knew I shouldn't ask him. If I wanted I'm sure I could Google his name and find out everything about him. Maybe an ex-army general? But I didn't because if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me.

I respected pretty much everything I knew about him. The thing I respected the most was the fact that he was fully dedicated to raising me right. There were dozens of times that child services wanted to remove me from him and the dump. Understandable. At times when I was younger I even wanted to be removed. I didn't want anything to do with him or the garbage dump. Now I look back and regret ever thinking that. I don't know how he kept custody of me, but he did it somehow. And even though we live in a dump he gave me everything I needed to live. Even if he had to take scraps and trash and build it for me.

He was also the one who convinced me to become a middle linebacker when I wanted to be either a quarterback or wide receiver. He lectured me on why football was like combat and how I should always think about defense and how I should always let the other make the first move. Then you react, stop, and counter their attack. I dunno. I figured that he wouldn't give up his lecturing argument so no matter how much I wanted to shout at him that football wasn't combat, and that I wanted to play quarterback or wide receiver, I listened and became a very accomplished linebacker. He was right. He was my strong uncle like figure, plain and simple.

Tadmor, or Tad as I called him pointed towards the locker room, "You should wash up. I'll meet you back home alright, Roan?"

"Alright."

As I turned to walk away he grabbed my shoulder pad firmly, "I'm proud of you mi'boy."

I smiled and shooed his hand off my shoulder, "Thanks, pops. Couldn't have done it without you."

_-V-_