Dec 6, 2010

Coach Then

He was a rough, rugged and rotten old man.

Bathed in booze and Cigar smoke

Skin tough as leather

Face wrinkled and weathered from battles in the elements

Eyes cold and grey

A formidable opponent to a high school kid

Making us Bleed, though never laying a hand on us.

Making us sweat until we ran out

Making us suffer at his mere delight

Always on his hill, watching over us

Criticising our every move, our every formation

His voice screaming to get it right

Wrong route; Run The HILL!

Missed the block; Run The HILL!

Fumbled the ball; Run The HILL!

As hard as he was though, he was our Coach

Year after year we returned in early August

To be tortured under his rule.

To young to understand the lessons he was entrusting us with

If I only knew then what I would have learned

Thanks to Coach

Be Safe
Ambulance Junkie

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