Any Given Sunday

With the sun breaking over the horizon on the the seventh day, men women and children fill a concrete prairie outside the site where battle will take place. These nomadic individuals set up for a pre-celebratory ritual where cooking and drinking is very popular. Approaching noon the ritual begins to come to a end. Mobs of average citizens dressed in colored rags that represent there heroes, raid the coliseum to cheer for there gridiron gladiators. Intoxicated by the fermented barley and hops they been slugging down all morning, the wait is almost over. As the crowd settles in and the armored heroes storm the Field moments before the battle is underway. Whats ironic is on this day we cheer for gladiator who runs and runs well. And we boo the combatants wearing the colors our rags don't represent. After the flip of a medallion twenty two of the best thoroughbreds our population has to offer will face off. Like prehistoric predators with the taste of blood these primer athletes wait for the scream of the whistle. Once set free by sound they charge each other and collide at speeds the average man could never reach. The crowd erupts as the clashing armor echos Threw the stadium. Football season has begun...