Rutting Season: The time when a young bucks attention turn to butting heads.
You must login to vote
Old Jack Frost had played his trick, he had licked the leaves and the trees were alive with color, fall was in full bloom. The ground was covered in a crunchy layer of frost that melted away under the cool October dawn.
“I love you, Billy.” Said a young mother to her doe-eyed son who blushed as he pushed his mother away for lovingly kissing him on his forehead in front of his teammates. She pushed his helmet on and checked his equipment making sure that no harm would befall her beloved son. She gave him a reassuring pat on the back as she urged her young son onto the football field (to join in the reindeer games) with the other children. Billy, dressed in the traditional home white, lovingly turned around to wave to his mother as he trotted out onto the field to join his teammates when he heard his mother shout those famous words of encouragement from the mouth she had just kissed him with:
“Kill ‘em, Billy!”
On the other side of the field a father hurried his black clad son onto the gridiron. He gave his son a swift swat on the rump and shouted something to his son that he felt assured that would fill his son with the confidence and fortitude he would need to face any challenge life would throw at him for the rest of his life:
“Knock his dick in the dirt, Bobby!”
Bobby, not knowing exactly what that meant, or what the proper response to that should be, continued to trot out to join his the other boys with a bewildered look on his face.
The shrill sound of the Referee’s whistle cut threw the October chill like fingernails on a chalkboard. The children lined up, The white hats on one side, prepared to give all to defend the same precious home turf that the black hatted opponents had defended last week. The black hatted visitors snorted streams of super heated air from there nostrils, they pawed at the ground like crazed bulls as they prepared to perform a daring feat that was so impossible that it had never been done before, at least not since last week. The Black hatted team kicked the ball high in the air, so high it nearly touched the clouds, from their perspective.
“Kill ‘em, Kill ‘em! Billy’s mother shouted as her son charged headlong into the oncoming charge of marauders.
“Knock their dicks in the dirt!” Bobby’s Dad yelled encouraging his son on as he charged into the opposing team.
Billy charged with his mother’s voice ringing in his ears. Bobby charged with his father’s sage advice fresh in his head. The two boys met at mid-field, looked at each other, stopped, Billy grabbed Bobby, Bobby grabbed Billy, the sound of their pads colliding made a deafening roar; and fell down.
The Referee blew his whistle calling an end to the melee. Each boy picked himself up and staggered back to their perspective teams.
“Ataboy!” Bobby’s dad yelled as his son staggered back to his teammates non-the-worse-for-wear.
“Waytagochamp!” Billy’s mom shouted as her much beloved son joined his teammates on wobbly legs.
The Referee blew his pavlovian whistle; the boys lined up across from each other and prepared to butt heads again. God, I love this time of year.
I wrote this at the beginning of football season, maybe I should have waited until fall to post it.