go for it

Scattered showers had left the field a wet, soggy, muddy mess. The sun was lost in a shade of grimacing clouds. Massive collisions, bodies flopping about, made the ground shake. This was football weather; a hard-nosed, hit-em, stomp-em, grappling dog-fight.
The zebras were letting the boys play.
They are weekend warriors. Grown men refusing to listen to their receptors; ignoring the wave of pain. The trenches were a scrum for postion. Ears pinned back, with a tenacious roar, the home side pressed the visitors heals deep into the ground.
Some were electricians. Warehouse workers. A mailman and a school teacher. They gathered together on Sunday to clash like the mighty Titans.
"pu-em in" coach pronounced with a grizzled Southern tongue. His attention never left the field. He spit his chew, and wiped the excess dribble from his chin, as he knelt down to measure the line.
Dotson Riggles looked up in terror from his sandy brown mop of hair.
"who me?"
It was a plastic Cleveland Browns junior helmet, glossed over with black spray paint. It was scratched and worn, and bubbled from the heat of the sun. While others spent two weeks pay on a Riddell, this helmet was pulled from a trash pile set out on the curb.
Dotson Riggles frame resembled a tooth pick with chicken legs and a tiny head. His skin was fair and freckled. His nose sat crooked, while his eyes much to close together. This was the moment he had been waiting for! All those games he watched intently . His school days now but a distant past.
Riggles secured his hockey shoulder pads, and rushed to the field.
The players scratched and shook their heads, as he lined up on the oppositions side of scrimmage.
"who is this guy" chirped through the air. "Wrong side Opey!"a black helmet scowled.
"oh no" he thought, and his head began to spin. He turned his body to face the sideline and his color changed green. His body lurched forward as his lunch poured out. He felt much better.
He faced the right side of the ball. The rest of the field shrugged their shoulders and lined up in postion.
The man under center sprayed cadence into the air. A drizzle of sweat slipping down the flesh.
They were giants in comparison to Riggles. He was outmatched. But still he puffed his chest, and stood strong until the snap.
He shot down the sideline like a bullet. Riggles kept up step for step.
The ball was released and soaring through the air. Cutting the patter of rain drops draping the field. A tight spiral; falling near.
The two leaped to catch the ball at its highest point. Riggles eyes lining up with the ball, with pin point accuracy. His compettitor flaring with the same intensity.
Arms outstrecthed and hands ready to clamp down...

Riggles was given a chance to play ball.