Football. Essays. Two A Days, by Blake Fery.

football essays

Two a days, by Blake Fery, Judge Memorial Catholic high school, Salt Lake City, Utah.

Every August since 2006 I have subjected myself to a test few others are capable or willing to accomplish. In grueling temperatures exceeding 100 degrees I place myself in a hellish environment from sun up to sun down. Many retreat from it and few embrace it. I’m talking about Two-a-days. Football is unique in that to become a student of the game you must first pass the week long battle that constitutes the sport’s rite of passage.

Monday morning of Two-a-days could possibly be described as my least favorite day of the 365 day calendar. It begins with an early wake up call, so early that even in this summer month; the sun has yet to bring its light to the world. After rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I make my way to the dark empty kitchen to try and eat a light meal mostly made up of hot oat meal or anything that will stay in my stomach. Then the drive. The silence before the storm. It’s the point of no return, once you start you have to finish.

As I pull up into the parking lot of St. Ann’s school it finally hits me: the next week of my life is gone. There’s nothing left to do, but try and stick it out. Everybody is silent as we put on our new cleats and shiny plastic helmets. The only sounds come from the hushed whispers of the kids who haven’t experienced this week before. Right after the last kid buckles his chin strap the gate to the field is opened and a flood of red jerseys pours onto the field.

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What happens next is not significant until the middle of practice when conditioning starts. For those who don’t know what conditioning is, it’s what my coaches like to call “the thing that separates men from boys”. We all line up on the end of a field that stretches 120 yards down and 120 yards back. We are told that we must sprint up and down this 240 yard stretch of grass in forty-eight seconds or it doesn’t count. This particular conditioning drill is called Gassers. It’s tradition to have it on the first day of Hell Week. On this particular day we had to run seven of these Gassers. They really aren’t that bad. Until about the third one. This is the part of practice where most of the players who quit, quit. I vividly remember the sun being so bright. The sun’s rays beating down on me and the dead, brown grass. A loud voice comes up and down the line, telling us how nothing in life is easy and other lessons that I will forever remember from the day in the sun.

In the summer of my final football season, the team finally welded all the pieces together. That blazing hot August week I learned the most important lesson of all. Lessons of life. You can’t always measure life’s trials in a win or loss column. Life isn’t about winning; it’s about how you treat other people and how hard you try. That week in the sun taught me the only true measure of success is never comes in the form of a scoreboard.

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