Wake up, early morning, its winter in a small southern town. The warm embrass of the sun still eclipsed by lofty mountain ranges, a utopia for a thick darkness to enshrouded the township. Fields filled with anticipation, torn trees loomed above as hungover housholds slept off night of regret.

” Wake up ” The selective yet banshee undertone voice comes from a kitchen counter top. A Strong woman stood there, her flawless facade masking her warthful presense was inevatably sensed. Sodden toast presented itself under a measly plate of irradiated beans subjected to nuclear torture. They are now cold. Sunlight now breaking the barrier of darkness to present a hope of radiant warmth to come, is snuffed out by a siege of opaque clouds. Time, it almost anticipated every movement, like a conman with a glimmer of deceit within his eye, shepperding you, followed by a feeling of uncomfort and helplessness.

The clock was broken.

look out, the lake standing still, the solitary gravel and stones slighty girated the car that speed at an alarming rate. Open on the road yet there was a sense of ergancy among, in frightful efforts of chasing time running away. The worn and tattered concrete of the entrance made a struggle as parents and caregivers that made there way into the historic grounds. The mixed sight of coffee and gumboots gave a sense of farmer like fabrication in a rich white town with little to no farm land at all. Many waited eagrly as children were leashed to parents hands.

8 am, cool brisk air was meet by bedridden grandparents waiting for ” The big game “. Coaches and volenteers scattered spectating the dewy grounds, each blade of grass examined for outliers and outcats, no difference, no change and no diversity. The oppostion fumbled out as a trumatised bus driver relocates his sanity after 5 hours 10 minutes 8 seconds with 20 boys in a isolated location. Eyes were locked and many were sized up, the bus, well past its prime, now empty and hastly speed past to escape the clutches of the 20 young boys.

Smell, changing rooms, a sweeping aroma of testosterone followed by a seight of overused towels thrown in a heap. Refurnashed beams, flush yet rustic, lay sideways pressed to the floor and a retired massage table lay next to it. Both veterans of years of misconduct and use, both rich with history and stains. A slit of sunlight passed through guarded walls of stone, from a crack hidden from plain view.

The stream of black and gold represented comradery between brothers, a patriotic atmosphere consequently created dese layer of pressure clouding the feild. Tesions almost at a snapping point. You see hefty almost animalistic looking bruts in a set formation as on lookers fuled with chants and screams at the ready.

You look, out in the open, a stage has been set up like a chess board wainting for a starting move. look up as the sun now found its way towards the collection of people. Waiting, watching. Many anticipating and making assumptions on the trajectory of the ball as the starting beacon wailed.