Football, The Righteous Brothers, and Bus Rides

We lost.
It was what we did. We hadn’t won a game all season,
and it was becoming increasingly clear—we weren’t going to.
We lost a game in a town an hour away,
where they cared about such things.
A freshman football game filled stands.
It was disorientating: their parents cussing at referees,
and shouting about holding and illegal procedure—like it mattered.
A freshman football game.

We lost, but we played.
Adam recovered a fumble.
Mike hit an airborne skinny-kid in the shin
and sent him into flip—it was awesome!
I had a ten-yard run, capped with a sweet stiff-arm.
Our clothes smelled like grass.
We were muddy and smiles.

The bus was background conversation,
a dull roar with intermittent laughter.
Adam stood in the aisle, started singing quiet:
“Baby, baby, I get down on my knees for you.”

The back of the bus started singing:
“bum, bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum-bum. . .”

“If you would only love me like you used do, yeah”

The rest of us joined: “Bum, bum-bum. . .” and the song picked up momentum.

We had a love, a love
a love you don’t find everyday.
So don’t, don’t
don’t let it slip away.

Mike echoed Adam.

Baby.
BABY!
I beg you please.
Ple-ease!
I need your love.
I need your love.
I need your love.
I need your love.
So bring it on back.
So bring it on back.
So bring it on back.
SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!

The coach stood up with a scowl.
“What the fuck?! You just lost the game.
By two touchdowns, and you’re singing?
You need to think about that.
You lost, and you’re acting like you won!
Have some pride!
The rest of the way no talking. Think about why you lost.
Why do you even bother to play the game?”

I wonder if the question was pointed at us.