[ WP ] A story of how I got my username .

20 years ago, on a cloudless night, all that could be heard was the rhythmic thump of tires rolling down a highway and the din of the old diesel engine. The air conditioner on the bus had stopped working long ago and we were all sticky with Texas heat. It did n't matter. Our minds were looking towards our destination, as they were every Friday night during season. 
 
 We grab our gear as we arrive and walk through the crowd and lights towards the field. Bull-in-the-ring, we called it, was our pre-game warm up. With each crash of helmet against shoulder pad our adrenaline ticked up, and up. Soon, the game would start. 
 
 The first snap of the game was usually the most exciting, only to be outclassed in some cases by the last. It was like most of our games, we gained a little, we lost a little. I did not know at the time I was going to lose more this game than anyone else on the field. 
 
 `` Red Right, Red Right, 32 Trap on one!'' I love this play. I'm grinning as I trot towards the line. I was about to blindside some unsuspecting defensive lineman and make sure he gets introduced to the family of mud and grass beneath his feet. When the ball is snapped, I get to sneak around our center level the first red jersey I see. 
 
 `` Down!'' I press my fingers into the soft soil. The grit slides under my fingernails and sweat falls in slow motion to the ground, creating tiny pools on the field. `` Set!'' My fingers twitch ever so slightly as I am preparing for the play. I look into the eyes of a defensive linebacker. `` Hut!'' My hand leaves the dirt and I pull towards my right, behind the center. I'm ready to plow down the lineman that was just here. `` He was just here! ``, I thought, `` Where did he...''. 
 
 I'm on the ground. I'm screaming. I do n't even know that I'm screaming except that I can hear myself screaming. I do n't know why I am screaming, I do n't feel any pain. I look up, and I see red. But it's not a red jersey, what I am seeing is blood rolling from the inside of my eye, staining the lights and creating shadows out of every player who has huddled around me. Never before nor since have I beheld a more eerie scene. 
 
 I am carried to the sidelines where the trainer comes and attends to the massive injury on my eye. He takes me to the locker room along with two other players. I am on my back, looking up into a light with what will from this point forward be known as my good eye. The two players each have tweezers. The trainer instructs each player to hold half of my eye lid so he can stitch it back together. 
 
 My face is swollen, my right eye has sealed itself shut. I pry it open to see what I could see. Nothing. It's been an hour and I can still see nothing. I find the coach and tell him my concern. `` Do n't worry, son'', he reassured, `` It will get better soon''. 
 
 It never did.
