'Twas the Season

for hot cider and football games.

I woke up on Saturday and thought, "This is the perfect day for a football game."

So I drove down to Hofstra University, in case their oft-injured quarterback, my cousin, was playing. A lot of my relatives were at the game. Turns out he was still injured, but he was going to start, anyway. It was Homecoming; he had to play. With a broken rib (which the opposing team didn't know about, thank God) and a re-injured knee (which the other team did know about, 'cause everyone does), he couldn't run. But his passing has always been strong, and he's one of the best college quarterbacks in the nation because of it. Saturday, though, he couldn't plant his leg to throw. What I saw was not the best he's been--not even close, according to the family. And when I felt his mother clinging to me after a play, and following her frowning eyes, saw him on the ground, I knew he'd been tackled. And during the tackle, his knee had given out.

And that's probably the end of the season. For him, the end period.

Poor guy, I feel so bad for him. In a primarily baseball-driven family, he's been the brightly shining football star.

My uncle, his father, turned to me and said, "I think this is the day of Bobby's retirement."

I'm glad I got to see him play.