Saturday (Part One)

Somewhere in the distance, the Platters were playing. The music was soft, almost lyrical, but then again, I really didnt care. I flipped around within my covers, attempting to get a view of the time. 6:45. Oh no, I thought to myself. I'm late. You see, I play football for the Bishop Rooney football team, and as of right now , I had all of 15 minutes to scurry my sorry little butt over practice. Saturday morning practices are never that hard, but when you don't show up, you might as well as have stopped playing. I forced my achingly sore body out of my bed and up to my dresser drawer where I proceeded to find clothes that wouldnt make me sweat like a bitch. I looked in my drawer. No clothes, I had once again forgotten to do my laundry. It was going to be one of those days.

7:10. I scamper out to the decripit field the Bishop Rooney Saints call home. That Platters song is stuck in my head and as I pull up to my little Napolean bulldog of a coach, I can't help but sing softly under my breath the catchy chorus. Napolean Bulldog stubbornly refuses to acknowledge my presence and proceeds to focus his attention on the sniveling twit he was currently eating out. After five to ten minutes (I believe...) of telling this boy about how useless he is, Napolean finally turned to acknowledge me with his usually scowl and grumpy mood. "Where the hell have you been?", he asked, anticipating the running I was going to have to do after practice. "Um...", I started, unsure of how to reverse my actions, "my alarm clock didn't go off?". The truth, I wonder if it would work. By this time the other coachs and players had congregated to see how Napeloan would rip me a new ass hole, so I knew my time was done. "Son, I'll see you after practice", he said, with a smile on his face. I grimaced. What could that possibly mean? Do you think he was just going to strangle and finish me off? I, the ungratful punk who had the tenacity to show up a whole ten minutes after practice. I had to wait and see.