It’s a hellish time for football players

o7”The single-mindedness necessary to fight one’s way to the top, in

no matter what sport, is something not shared by the majority of

mortals.”f7

-- Paul Gallico

It’s that unmistakable smell of freshly mowed grass intermixed

with the summer heat.

It’s the not-so calm before the storm.

It’s shorts, shirts and cleats and then the first day of full

pads.

It’s two-a-days, more running than you thought possible and,

provided its cold, the most satisfying drink of water you’ve ever had

in your life.

It’s the boys of summer giving up that summer, making that

necessary sacrifice to become a high school football player and to

come together as a team.

It is, indeed, hell week.

More than anything else -- whether you rarely see the sideline

during those 48 minutes or seldom hit anybody other than teammates at

practice -- it’s that rite of passage that makes you a player, that

earns you a spot on that team.

For year after year, season upon season before you were there and

decades removed from your departure, boys trying to become men have

worn and will wear those same numbers on that same field.

The only difference between them and you is what those who came

before you know and what you’ll be able to tell those who follow.

This is the season’s genesis.

Ironically, though, it’s likely the last chance before it’s too

late to show you belong on that team and on that field.

Now is the time to leave it all on the field.

The beauty of it all is that every year, the chance to grasp glory

comes to whomever is willing to sacrifice a Friday under the stars.

Catch is, the sacrifice begins now -- the one necessary to put

yourself in position to make those on Friday night.

There are those who have the talent, but are absent of the desire,

the discipline, the intangibles. They’re a dime a dozen in our

frazzled society.

There are those who are in it for the uniform. They want to be a

part of the football team, perhaps get a snazzy letterman jacket, but

they don’t really have, nor wish to show, what it takes to be a

football player.

There’s also the kids with the true grit, the intestinal

fortitude, the ones who possess all the cliched attributes to earn a

nickname like “Rudy,” but will soon sorrow on the prospects of

playing, believing the doubters who say they’re too small, too slow

and not talented enough.

Then there’s the others. Those who stand apart. The men among

boys.

When some are trying to figure out how soon practice is over,

they’re the ones lost in all that football has to offer them and all

they have to offer football.

These are the ones who, whether they realize it or not, are taking

full advantage of a priceless opportunity and forging a future free

of regret.

Just like any sport, any athletic endeavor, skill, size and speed

can only take you so far. It is the maximum effort you put forth and

the desire you showcase that enables you to realize you did

everything in your being to excel.

Glory is all too fleeting, an aspect of life as seldom experienced

as youth. And in that same context, both are rarely realized until

they’ve passed.

So engulfed by the moment, it’s not often that you realize just

how precious the moment was.

Who knows if it’s even a fair trade.

For the sacrifices put forth to get there are ones that extend

from this day to the next, that never-ending practice to the other.

Those seem to last forever.

But, indeed they don’t. And it is only then that you will realize

these hours in these painstaking days were opportunities disguised as

sacrifices.

And without them, glory, no matter how fleeting, is not possible.

The time is now.

It’s time to embrace hell week and all the opportunistic

sacrifices it offers in order to bring the sanctuary of victory and

the zenith of self-satisfaction all that much closer.

To the Bulldogs, Indians and Guards, I implore you to relinquish

the time of your youth, the sweat on your brow, the air in your body

and the sanity in your mind.

Give all you have as the opportunity to do such still remains.

Three months from now, you’ll thank yourself.

That’s just the way I see it, playing second string.

* GRANT GORDON is a sports staff writer.He can be reached at (818)

637-3225 or by e-mail at [email protected].