you have good field position, is kick a field goal. If you’ve gotten close to the other team’s goal, but not actually into it, you have your kicker try to kick the ball through the goalposts (the uprights, we call the arms on either side), and you get three points if he makes it.
Once you get your ten yards, you get a whole new set of downs. This keeps up until you punt, or get a field goal, or score a touchdown by getting into the other team’s goal. Or—this is where I come in—until one of your players loses the ball and the other team gets it. It has to be a “live” ball, which is complicated and there are lots of rules around it but essentially it means that the play isn’t over yet. So if your running back drops the ball and I pick it up, or your quarterback is a crappy passer and I get the pass before his receiver does, then that’s a “change of possession” and the ball belongs to us. We can run it back as far as we can on that play, then our offense takes over on the next one.
That’s why I love playing defense. We get to be in on the big plays, the game-changing ones that “turn the tide,” “shift the momentum,” whatever you want to call it. There’s nothing like the feeling you get when you get your paws on the ball as a defender. Nothing.
Not to say there’s nothing better. Just nothing like it.
Brian’s Song and Dance
(Lee)
December 2006
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
“Hey, Wiley, it’s Brian. Again.”
The pause before the “again” is perfectly timed. If he’d let it be part of the sentence, it might’ve slipped by me. The hesitation is not because he’s wondering whether to bring it up. It’s so that he can make me aware that he knows I’ve been avoiding his calls.
“ I got your message about next weekend. Sorry you’ll be out of town.”
Delivered with just the right amount of sarcasm. I don’t doubt that he’s sorry. I know he doubts that I’m really out of town. Fortunately for me, I will be; I wouldn’t put it past him to turn up unexpectedly at my door, to catch me out. One reason we would never have made it as a couple: we think too much alike.
“ Why don’t you give me a call sometime Sunday evening, between seven and nine? I’ll arrange my next visit around your schedule.”
I knew I’d only be able to get away with calling when I knew he was out a few times. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever.
“ Hope to talk to you soon.”
Oh, he’s good. Such a simple phrase, layered expertly with expectations, sadness, and a touch of annoyance. Just enough to make me feel guilty.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Brian is a great actor for just that reason. He rarely lets anything slip out without a direction and a target, and he hits the mark more often than not. He got me into acting, but I’ll never be as good as he is.
Of course, that’s also indirectly why he’s no longer attending Forester.
We hit it off the first day we met, October of my freshman year: two gay boys from Midwestern towns, sitting in the Forester Lesbians And Gays orientation, both sitting there with tails wagging, thinking that this is why we came to Forester University. There were other freshmen there too, but when the spotted skunk stood up and said, “I’ve been waiting my whole life to be here,” which was almost word for word what I’d planned to say, I grinned so wide that he gave me a quick wink as he sat down.
After the meeting, we all went out for drinks. Brian and I closed the bar down, then went back to his dorm room and talked until four in the morning. We didn’t sleep together or even fool around, then or ever. He said it was because we were too much alike, but the truth is more prosaic. That first night, we were both hyperconscious of the “safe sex” talk we’d gotten at the orientation. Soon after that, he hooked up with Tad, and by the time they broke up (a memorable scene worth a story in itself), I was dating Micha. After that, we were too
Once you get your ten yards, you get a whole new set of downs. This keeps up until you punt, or get a field goal, or score a touchdown by getting into the other team’s goal. Or—this is where I come in—until one of your players loses the ball and the other team gets it. It has to be a “live” ball, which is complicated and there are lots of rules around it but essentially it means that the play isn’t over yet. So if your running back drops the ball and I pick it up, or your quarterback is a crappy passer and I get the pass before his receiver does, then that’s a “change of possession” and the ball belongs to us. We can run it back as far as we can on that play, then our offense takes over on the next one.
That’s why I love playing defense. We get to be in on the big plays, the game-changing ones that “turn the tide,” “shift the momentum,” whatever you want to call it. There’s nothing like the feeling you get when you get your paws on the ball as a defender. Nothing.
Not to say there’s nothing better. Just nothing like it.
Brian’s Song and Dance
(Lee)
December 2006
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
“Hey, Wiley, it’s Brian. Again.”
The pause before the “again” is perfectly timed. If he’d let it be part of the sentence, it might’ve slipped by me. The hesitation is not because he’s wondering whether to bring it up. It’s so that he can make me aware that he knows I’ve been avoiding his calls.
“ I got your message about next weekend. Sorry you’ll be out of town.”
Delivered with just the right amount of sarcasm. I don’t doubt that he’s sorry. I know he doubts that I’m really out of town. Fortunately for me, I will be; I wouldn’t put it past him to turn up unexpectedly at my door, to catch me out. One reason we would never have made it as a couple: we think too much alike.
“ Why don’t you give me a call sometime Sunday evening, between seven and nine? I’ll arrange my next visit around your schedule.”
I knew I’d only be able to get away with calling when I knew he was out a few times. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever.
“ Hope to talk to you soon.”
Oh, he’s good. Such a simple phrase, layered expertly with expectations, sadness, and a touch of annoyance. Just enough to make me feel guilty.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Brian is a great actor for just that reason. He rarely lets anything slip out without a direction and a target, and he hits the mark more often than not. He got me into acting, but I’ll never be as good as he is.
Of course, that’s also indirectly why he’s no longer attending Forester.
We hit it off the first day we met, October of my freshman year: two gay boys from Midwestern towns, sitting in the Forester Lesbians And Gays orientation, both sitting there with tails wagging, thinking that this is why we came to Forester University. There were other freshmen there too, but when the spotted skunk stood up and said, “I’ve been waiting my whole life to be here,” which was almost word for word what I’d planned to say, I grinned so wide that he gave me a quick wink as he sat down.
After the meeting, we all went out for drinks. Brian and I closed the bar down, then went back to his dorm room and talked until four in the morning. We didn’t sleep together or even fool around, then or ever. He said it was because we were too much alike, but the truth is more prosaic. That first night, we were both hyperconscious of the “safe sex” talk we’d gotten at the orientation. Soon after that, he hooked up with Tad, and by the time they broke up (a memorable scene worth a story in itself), I was dating Micha. After that, we were too
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