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[January 27th, 2008] |
She was there that night in the stands rooting me on. It was the second best game of my career, the best ironically was the one that ended my career. We were in love, and going to get married. People were always skeptical about our relationship -- but I figured they were jealous. Logan - 1, haters - 0. Of course now, it's the other way around.
Let me give you an insider's look on my timeline. September 11, 1980 -- greatest moment in history when I was slapped on the bottom, and brought into this world. I was born to play sports -- the All-American athlete. Since before I can remember, the mere smell of a tightly leather wounded football or basketball would ignite something in me. I kicked all the other foster kids' ass at whatever game we played. Trophies, awards, recognitions all came with the territory. Once the adoptive parents took us in, the old man recognized my talent [it was pretty obvious, and he was pretty dense] and enrolled me in all the local teams. I powered through until I was playing for a nationally recognized little league team. I was their MVP, and we never lost a game. To this day, I believe partially their decision to choose the four of us was because of my talent to handle a game under all the pressure in the world. The old man wanted an all-star -- live his dream through one of us. I made sure to play my best game. I knew from a certain age that I was born to work a crowd -- my purpose was to win the approval of recruiters, coaches, rival players, audiences, and my new parents. Such high expectations, and I hit every one of them. I made sure of it. I didn't want to go back into that shithole they made us call home. Other kids put on their own shows -- the girls always got it easy. They could act all cutesy and put on their princess-y costumes, and immediately gain coos from shopping parents. What did us guys have? We had sports. And I played like I was born to play. January 30, 1998, I was 17, and life was perfect. I was captain of the football team, starting quarterback, dated the head cheerleader, and knew that recruiters from all over the nation watched my back. NFL pinned me as the new upcoming thing. I was that month's Sports Illustrated young athlete. I was going to reign over college football, and then tackle [pun intended] the professional world. As a freshman at USC, I never did last even a minute on that bench. I took the Trojans to the top [so much for alliteration, right :)]. Three years later, the NFL guys came hunting for me. It was between the New York Giants who were offering me something that would last me and my own a lifetime of monetary happiness, and the New England Patriots who came at close second.
That all changed, December 31, 2004. I would have rather spent my New Year's eve getting shitfaced with my teammates, brothers, and let's face it-- the abundance of ladies, or fans might I add, that gather at these events. But no, things never go to plan. I was helping a brother out -- playing the third wheel -- taking a hit so that he can pull off his game. I was a true friend. Out of all places, I was expecting to be dragged to a new club or private house party, but the POS wanted to impress the girl with a false sense of 'sophistimication' that he was trying to achieve. The brother thinks the Olive Garden and plaid pants are at the height of class. He got it in his head that the way to win this girl's heart was to show that not only was he this great sensitive guy with taste, he was a great sensitive guy with artistic taste. I would have been amused, only I was the one dragged along. I know I'd probably get jumped by artists everywhere when I openly share that I used to be ignorant. I chose to be ignorant. I preferred to call it apathy; just another euphemism to cover up my flaws -- I just didn't believe I had any at the time. I believed modern art was bullshit -- rich folks pay thousands for a painting that even I could pull off in my drawers. I saw a blank canvas with a black dot in the goddamn center sell for 3k. It's sheer brilliance at what people considered to be art. If only I had the name to back me up, I could make bank with 'art'. I was walking around wearing the preppiest, and what I believed to be the tackiest attire I'd ever worn in my life -- I would have preferred my jersey and jeans, but I knew I had to play up the role. I had to fit in too, and I sort of did with the borrowed sweater vest. Girls that I went for before were shaped like S's, had the junk in all the right places, and as my fellow brother Sir Mix A-Lot put it, "I like big butts, and I cannot lie." Or so I thought that's what I wanted. All the football stars walked around with these girls on each arm -- and that was what I had to strive for. It was all about fame, fortune, and fine women. Educated girls with opinions -- no way, shucks, there was no room for them on my arm. That was blasphemous.
Enough rambling. The plot of my predictable life comes to hit a roadblock, a barrier, an unexpected turn. Dun, dun, dun. The climactic change. That was when in my utter boredom, SHE walked into that room, and goddamn she owned it. Like those typical fairy tale movies, all eyes were literally on her, and I was for sure, the subjects of those paintings were staring at her too. I forgot about everything -- keeping up appearances, what I had to do that day, who I was going to meet, my dreams, my goals, my accomplishments, and my life. The only thing that mattered was her. And that hasn't changed even till this day. It was as if everything I had known in my life was irrelevant. She was different than me. Completely opposite. She was educated. Artistic, creative, spontaneous, free-living, wild, liberal, unrestricted, free-- everything I wasn't. She fit in nowhere in my cookie-cutter planned out life. But, you gotta understand, that she became my life. She completed my thoughts. No longer was I born to be my father's son. No longer was I born to be the All-American football champ. Instead, I was born to love her. Everything changed when she broke into my life. It was an interruption I had been waiting for. She made me concentrate on me -- not what I did, not what I planned to do, but me. The concept was so newfound and unheard of in the book. She made me realize that I should write my own book. I stopped caring of what outsiders and commentators said about my life with her. We were going to get married. I was never the one to be tied down -- friends and family joked about this constantly. I was your typical philandering commitment-phobic who enjoyed being single to the fullest. All past tense though. We were perfect together.
I admit, I got cold feet once. So I put on two extra pairs of socks that morning, and sucked it up. I was ready. The pews were filled up-- there was not one empty seat in the house. I knew I was born to put on a show. I wanted to prove to all those that doubted us, IN YOUR FACE FUCKERS. The music started. Just like in the rehearsals. One by one, my best friend and my three brothers came out in their best tuxes. Her friends, too, wearing dresses that would bring out her eyes, she chose all of it. I trusted her taste. Hell, I trusted her. It felt like an eternity waiting for her to come out. Seconds turned to a minute. Then ten. Where the hell was she? All these people were waiting for me to put on the best performance I've ever had, but I couldn't do that without the leading lady. It all happened in slow motion. The maid of honor rushed to the back. I didn't know what to do... I even contemplated asking the band to vamp, distract the audience for a minute. I saw the maid of honor come back out to the chapel, and I almost thought I saw Lainey's white dress peeking out, but that was just part of my imagination. She didn't even leave a note. My feet were burning.
...to be continued.
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