The Pit

"The Pit" was what we called it. It was a little drainage ditch that in the winter, the city would fill in as an ice skating rink (which saw little use).  To us, what it really was was the ultimate pick-up football game venue. It was roughly 40 yards by 30 yards, with 5 foot tall grass hills surrounding it. It was the perfect size for fourteen 12/13-year-olds to run around and take each others heads off. It was like clockwork when the 3:15 bell would ring, ending the school day, "You guys wanna play football?" a group text would read, minutes after getting on the bus home. The park was a short, three minute bike ride away from my house, so obviously I never missed a game.

I loved to play here. It was the one part of my day (even though I was young with literally almost zero 'real' problems) where nobody could touch me. Nothing really mattered. It would get heated from time-to-time, but a lot of that was a combination of immaturity and competition. I was almost always the first to get picked, and if I wasn't, you regretted it instantly. I was a lot more fluid and agile then most of the still pre-pubescent, uncoordinated, soccer players that just loved to try and prove superiority over our crappy football team. But, not me. I was a one-man wrecking crew back then. I had instinct, power, vision… Must've been the Irish-catholic, tough nosed, parochial school in me. Most of the kids I was playing with/against were still trying to figure out how to hold the ball when you throw it. Those were some long afternoons of legendary performances. I miss "The Pit".