I can still see their faces.
They were standing in long overcoats next to a fence surrounding the football field, about six former high school football players who had followed us to a playoff game more than a hundred miles from home.
It was my last game as a high school player. And it was cold -- really cold -- and rainy. Yet they came. And cheered and clapped and high fived. As long as we were winning.
For most of the game we were, until a last-minute touchdown pass. They were crushed, their disappointment immediately turning to disgust.
It dripped from their faces.
They mumbled, waved us off and walked away. It hurt. Bad. …