No Fear!

It was the game of every parent’s dreams.

There are certain things that are clear only to those who’ve lived a lifetime and earned the wisdom of perspective, far beyond the rites of childhood. When you’re a kid, all that matters is the justice of the moment, the score on the board, the victory at hand. If the numbers don’t add up, the devastation is soulfelt and swift, the bitter tears stinging and consolation beyond reach.

But, oh, the pride of a parent who sees triumph in its true colors.

There is a game of which every parent dreams. It is elusive, magical, that full-moon, harmonic-convergence, remember-it-until-your-last-breath stuff of wish-it-could-happen-this-way. Last night was such a game.

Every dad fantasizes about a gridiron where the impossible obstacle is defied with strength and plucky determination and endurance and against-all-odds excellence.

Every mom dreams of a game where no child gets hurt, no feelings are injured, no angry words spilled.

Every fan knows that football is meant to be played with the chill of fall tugging at the face, that huddling should occur off the field as well as on, that the alluring heat of hot chocolate and coffee has never been so enticing as on the sidelines when the mist of merely breathing rivals that drifting upward from the Styrofoam cup.

Every kid just wants to win.

In the end, anyone who understands victory hopes for a night where every player approaches the opportunity inherent in each play with a sense that anything is possible and confidence and determination reign supreme. Fumbles don’t deter and touchdowns don’t inspire arrogance. The game ain’t over ‘til it’s over and every player gives his didn’t-even-know-he-had-it-in-him absolute all.

Last night wasn’t supposed to go so well. Our opponents, throughout the season, were beyond invincible. Only one team in the league had even scored against them and that had only happened once. With a full roster that gave them the luxury of a refreshed second string, there was little an exhausted team that never got to leave the field could hope to offer in the way of challenge.

But, oh, never underestimate the sheer intensity of dreams.

When I told my son that we would likely be trekking to Chicago over the coming weekend, he was offended. “Don’t make any plans that include next Saturday, Mom,” he cautioned me. “We have a championship game to play.”

This he said with certainty, despite every person with a good pair of eyes and bit of intellect knowing that we didn’t have a hope in the heavens of beating the Colts. I smiled knowingly but withdrew our plans. Who can argue with the faith of a 10 year old?

At game time, our boys surged en masse onto the sidelines, chanting in unison “No fear! No fear! No fear!”

The battle that followed defies my every perception of what should have been humanly possible for this little group of boys that night. Time and again, they moved the ball against boys brawnier and taller, players that had already whupped us once this season and – oh my heavens can it be so? – the first score on the board belonged to our sons!

Impossibly, our team of Eagles flew through the night, preserving their lead beyond the half and touching the final quarter. Then, with their opponents leading by less than a touchdown would cure, the game shrunk to mere seconds and inches from the goal line.

The final play and a judge’s eye left our opponents cheering and their parents breathing heartfelt sighs of relief, but everyone there that night knew the score had been settled with our team in the driver’s seat.

As my ex hugged our son and expressed how proud he was of him, his eyes lifted to mine and they were brimming with tears. It was then that I recalled the man I had known before he became our son’s father and I smiled with a pride of my own, for two boys who were men on the field that night.

It was the perfect victory and no trophy on earth could make it more absolute.