Not only am I fortunate to call Eric my quarterback, but even more so to call him my friend. I feel like my job not only is to keep Eric's jersey clean and his facemask grassless but to keep him calm and put a toothy smile on his perfectly tanned face.
He asked me one simple question: "Can you block this guy?" That simple question really irritated me something awful. Looking at him with restrained contempt, I told him that I can and will get the job done. He left me with the simple phrase, "Show me."
I spit when I talk, huff when I walk and snort when I run. I haven't seen a razor in a few months, a barber in a year or a date in two. I am a football player by choice, but an offensive lineman by the grace of God.
If the thud of the blocked field goal in last year's game haunted my once peaceful dreams, I couldn't imagine what it must have done for the guy who kicked it. This week during practice, I jokingly asked our kicker Sean if he wanted the game to come down to a field goal again. He smiled.
My goal was set from a young age: to become a Division I football player. No questions and no exceptions. It may seem like a world of pressure to some, but for me, it was all I could think and dream about.