Pete Unleashed: Post-Game Trauma
Pete Porcelli
Sunday May 7, 2000
It is 12:01am, officially the day after a game. You`ve just played the entire game plus an overtime period. Your body is still shaking from the pounding you took. You do not have that same pep in your step like you did the morning of the big game. The only thing helping you get through the pain of the night’s game is a cold one that goes down like water. Football players are notorious for being able to swig down a few cold "pops" after a hard fought game, win or lose. It is now 2:00 am and the time’s flying. You and a bunch of the guys are wandering aimlessly around the hotel lobby. You find yourself limping down the steps and gripping the banister just to keep from falling on your head. Your elbows feel like a ball of fire. You have scrapes and cuts on your body from playing a violent, high collision, and dangerous sport on Astroturf. You casually look into your pants pocket to find your travel itinerary to see what ungodly time you will have to wake up for the plane. You try to focus your eyes on the time and can`t believe the numbers. It reads: “5:30am wake up call, 6:45 flight.” And in fine print it reads: "If you miss the flight, you`re on your own.
You finally make it to your hotel room. The alarm clock reads 2:13am. You know that in 3 hours you`ll be in the shower trying to wake up. You toss and turn thinking of what you might have done to help the team win the game in overtime. You can`t sleep. You reenact the game in your head over and over. You toss and turn some more and then look at the alarm clock. It reads 2:46 am. Finally, you fall asleep. You hear ringing. What is that sound? It`s not possible. You just fell asleep. On the fifth ring or so you answer it and hear a busy signal. That`s it. Time to wake up. You try to move out of the bed but realize your body is too stiff. You talk to your body parts and ask them to kindly move. But no, rigor mortis has set in. It takes a good 2-3 minutes just to sit up in bed. That`s when it hits; the room starts to spin. In the shadows you see your roommate standing in his boxers in the bathroom, letting off a little post-game flatulence. You finally stand up and take very small steps to the bathroom area. After inhaling your buddy’s B-2 bomber, you grab a toothbrush to kill your dragon breath. You scour the room looking for any clothes you may have left behind. You hit the lobby listening to the players’ stories of their nighttime escapades which in reality are only 25 percent true. When everyone moves toward the bus it looks like recess time at the nursing home with all the hunched, limping players. Most of them didn’t even sleep the night before; they plan to sleep on the plane.
Once onboard you gaze around, smelling booze and cheap cologne. About 30 minutes into the flight, guys are listening to their CD players and snoring. The stewardess doesn’t even bother to ask them for breakfast – she knows better. You are the lucky one. You are stuck in a middle coach seat between two 300-pound lineman. What a fun ride this will be. So everyone falls asleep, drooling on each other’s sports jackets. What a way to end a glorious road trip.
Pete Porcelli was a writer for ArenaFan Online during the 2000 season.
