(no subject)
Tim's actually disappointed it's not raining. Those had always been his favorite games, the memories of mud on his knees and clumps of grass stuck in his helmet lingering long past any memories of who scored the first touchdown and who got credit for the sack in the second quarter. Still, his adrenaline for a real, actual game (even without real padding or real rules or a real team) isn't diminished in the slightest and the sight of the uprights (made with special help from Duck) bookending the new Taylor Field makes Tim feel just a little bit like he's home again.
Neither team has any padding or cleats or helmets or any equipment of any kind. Just kids and a pigskin as Coach Taylor would say and when Jason blows the whistle to start off the first play, it's immediately apparent that it's not like any football game Tim's ever played before.
But, it's close enough.
The first half goes pretty smoothly, Tim getting in a few good runs and some even better blocks, not too shabby considering how out of practice he is. They take a small break before the second half and then it all goes to hell.
Tim's never liked losing.
Jason's keeping time and when the last seconds trickle down and Tim hears the blow of a whistle, he's not happy. And he doesn't even have a helmet to throw to the ground in a show of frustration. It's a stupid, loosely organized game with a bunch of amateurs in a cow pasture with no gear and no real season and no championship at the end of it all, but its football, goddammit, and a loss is a loss. It matters, a fact that Tim Riggins proves with his suddenly sour mood and even Jason knows better than to laugh.
One team's more than ready to party, victory still splitting their faces open with matching grins, while the other team, led by their quarterback, is probably just ready to get really, really piss-drunk.
Of course, Lyla Garrity's outdone herself. It was a team effort, brought together with the help of the island's seemingly never-ending supply of goodwill and charity. And hell, everybody likes a good party. Makeshift cabanas and tables line the area just off the field, already laid out with food and drink aplenty. They'd dug a pit the day before, and smoke still curls from the fire, a fresh boar turning on the spit. There are ribs and pulled pork, chili and corn muffins and potato salad and just about anything else that seems to fit the theme. Jason suspects there might've been some kind of bakery war in the kitchen, a whole table lined with cookies and cakes with at least two girls loudly taking credit.
There's music but most importantly? There's beer. 'Cause once you're drunk enough, it almost doesn't matter who won or who lost.
Well, alright. Almost.
[Timed to late afternoon and carrying on into the evening, it's a good ol' football game and BBQ! Just as a note, the winning team, Team B, was decided via a coin toss (no, seriously) and, if you need a refresher as to the roster, it's available here. This post is absolutely open to everyone: players, friends, spectators and cynics alike, so feel free to tag in, tag each other and have fun.]
Neither team has any padding or cleats or helmets or any equipment of any kind. Just kids and a pigskin as Coach Taylor would say and when Jason blows the whistle to start off the first play, it's immediately apparent that it's not like any football game Tim's ever played before.
But, it's close enough.
The first half goes pretty smoothly, Tim getting in a few good runs and some even better blocks, not too shabby considering how out of practice he is. They take a small break before the second half and then it all goes to hell.
Tim's never liked losing.
Jason's keeping time and when the last seconds trickle down and Tim hears the blow of a whistle, he's not happy. And he doesn't even have a helmet to throw to the ground in a show of frustration. It's a stupid, loosely organized game with a bunch of amateurs in a cow pasture with no gear and no real season and no championship at the end of it all, but its football, goddammit, and a loss is a loss. It matters, a fact that Tim Riggins proves with his suddenly sour mood and even Jason knows better than to laugh.
One team's more than ready to party, victory still splitting their faces open with matching grins, while the other team, led by their quarterback, is probably just ready to get really, really piss-drunk.
Of course, Lyla Garrity's outdone herself. It was a team effort, brought together with the help of the island's seemingly never-ending supply of goodwill and charity. And hell, everybody likes a good party. Makeshift cabanas and tables line the area just off the field, already laid out with food and drink aplenty. They'd dug a pit the day before, and smoke still curls from the fire, a fresh boar turning on the spit. There are ribs and pulled pork, chili and corn muffins and potato salad and just about anything else that seems to fit the theme. Jason suspects there might've been some kind of bakery war in the kitchen, a whole table lined with cookies and cakes with at least two girls loudly taking credit.
There's music but most importantly? There's beer. 'Cause once you're drunk enough, it almost doesn't matter who won or who lost.
Well, alright. Almost.
[Timed to late afternoon and carrying on into the evening, it's a good ol' football game and BBQ! Just as a note, the winning team, Team B, was decided via a coin toss (no, seriously) and, if you need a refresher as to the roster, it's available here. This post is absolutely open to everyone: players, friends, spectators and cynics alike, so feel free to tag in, tag each other and have fun.]