Touchdown!

2015 3rd-4th Grade Prose Honorable Mention

Football - from the perspective of one

Hi, I’m a football and I think my name is Jeff (Other footballs don’t have mouths to tell me otherwise). Right now, I’m being thrown around on the football field by the thirdback or quarterback or something like that. I’m so dizzy. Don’t the refs ever think about the footballs’ feelings?!

Anyway, the game is about to start, and I’m put on some kind of cone. These people are crazy! They think I’m ice cream! Chocolate ice cream. I hate chocolate ice cream! As I thought about my favorite flavor ice cream, I felt a sharp, hard push against my back. The next thing I knew, I was flying!

“AHHHHH!” I screamed (If I had a mouth). But then, two seconds later, I’m in these sticky things (The players think that these are catching gloves, I think) and I’m swinging back and forth. I try and wiggle my way out, but it’s too sticky. It’s like these people want me glued to a posterboard! This is complete ball abuse!

As I am moving back and forth, I suddenly do a backflip. I thought this was football, not gymnastics! Next thing I knew, I’m in other sticky things! Are all the football players half posterboard-with-glue?!

Now I’m in the other posterboard, swaying back and forth. Not like those rocking chair things, I’m going three feet this way, three feet that (Maybe I’m not that good at telling feet and inches apart).

Right after that, I hear the crowd scream,”TOUCHDOWN!”

Oh no, I thought.

This was the worst part of the game. Whenever someone scored a touchdown, the ball, a.k.a me, would get spiked. I braced myself, waited, and then BOOM!

“WAHHHH!!”

I was in the air and I heard the crowd screaming. Not in pain, in joy. They actually enjoy the ball abuse!

This so-called “routine” of dizzy and dog pile had been going on for a while now. I believe it is the fourth quarter. 3rd up ( Or possibly 3rd down). I was in the thirdback’s (although it could be quarterback’s) hands. Fortunately, he is not a posterboard man. Unfortunately, this was the man who made me spin. And spin I did. Even worse, the spinning lasted for a long time. To make matters the worst possible (even though life for me never seems to stop getting worse), they just let me fall to the ground. So, I bounced, and bounced, and bounced. Don’t humans know how to pick something up off the ground?!

Wait. Timeout. No, not an actual timeout, just a, um, er, well anyway, you get the point. The players weren’t setting up like usual. I was thrown from underneath one guy, like normal, but unlike normal, the person who caught me was half posterboard. Then, I was on a shoe. And then I was flying. The worst of three worlds. Isn’t it supposed to be the best of both worlds? Next, I was caught and tackled. DOG PILE!!!!! Except I’m not a dog. Can’t they distinguish one brown thing from another?!

After that, I heard cheering. Loud cheering. Crazy loud cheering. It was like someone won the Superbowl. Wait a minute (or second, whichever you prefer), I think someone did win the Superbowl! People were running around like maniacs (although humans do seem closely related to maniacs), and there was confetti.

Suddenly, there were cold bare hands on me (thank god there are some people without posterboard hands). Also suddenly, I was being pulled away from the confetti. The next thing I knew, I was in a dark, small room (never mind, posterboard people, you’re way better than bare hand people). I can’t believe it! I am the actual Superbowl champion! Who scored all the touchdowns? Me! Who took all the hard hits? Me! How did the game football even get invented? Me! Well, I think you get the point. Anyway, I guess the only thing for me to do is sleep (If I had eyes to open and close), and, well, sleep some more, I guess.

Just then, something struck me. I, Jeff Spalding (hey, my stomach says Spalding), was the very football used in the Superbowl. It went by so fast. Well, people do say,”Time flies when you’re having fun.” HOLD ON. I was having fun? The beating I took out there, that was fun? I don’t believe it. I refuse to.