article by: Nate Kaeding
Kickers are not always the most revered or respected players on the team. Fine. I get that. We wear special shoes, only play a handful of downs and can't tackle for shit. We aren't the strongest or fastest players on the team. You never see kids wearing a Gramatica or Longwell jersey. It's a tough role to fill, but someone's gotta do it. Am I right?
Then one bright Sunday morning, I thought all of that was going to change. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, watching all the cool players get drafted, and BLAMMO! I hear my number called. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. But it was no dream - I was being drafted by the Rochester Rainbows as the starting kicker!
Oh God, I was on cloud nine. I felt wanted. I felt useful. For the first time in my life, I didn't hate what I had done or where my life had ended up. My head was all a-tizzy with grandiose dreams of championships and Ryan Leaf commemorative trophies. As I walked up to that podium to shake Coach Cozine's hand and accept my jersey, I was solid gold, baby. Nothing was gonna stop this freight train!
Fast forward a week to the opening game of the season. We were playing the new kid on the block, Coach Leiting, and his formidable Bootleggers. Electricity was in the air, excitement was coursing through my body, and that moment approached: opening kickoff! Here I was, a member of this team, wanted by the players and the coaching staff (Coach Cozine has hired some Malaysian guy to help out; they're pretty close), and I was the one who got to touch the football first. I had a fever, and the only prescription was more pigskin!
I approached the ball, made contact, and... WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!? I tore my fucking ACL? Are you kidding me? That shit is for the running backs and wide receivers. The guys who are actually running and jumping and getting tackled. I run maybe 100 yards total during a game, and yet in my first 10 I'm already God-damned Gimp McGee. What a fucking failure. I mean, failure of epic fucking proportions. Coach put all his eggs in one fucking basket - didn't draft another kicker, put all his faith in me to carry the team - and BOOM, just like that I've let down the only person who has ever cared about me. Ever.
To make things worse, the Rainbows went out and got David Akers as my replacement. Are you serious? I hate that phag. What a Class A douchebag. Holy shit, Akers is such a dick. And, to put the fucking icing on the cake, the team up and changes its name on me. It's like the name "Rainbows" was somehow tainted by my having been a part of it.
So anyway, here I am, jobless, penniless, friendless... worthless. I sit around my house in sweatpants eating bricks of cheese and sticks of butter. I don't even have the energy to get up and go the bathroom. I'm wasting away in a puddle of urine and feces, contemplating the sweet escape that the Smith & Wesson under my pillow could bring me. Fuck my life, bro. Fuck it in the ass. Hard.
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| Kaeding sad |
Then one bright Sunday morning, I thought all of that was going to change. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, watching all the cool players get drafted, and BLAMMO! I hear my number called. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. But it was no dream - I was being drafted by the Rochester Rainbows as the starting kicker!
Oh God, I was on cloud nine. I felt wanted. I felt useful. For the first time in my life, I didn't hate what I had done or where my life had ended up. My head was all a-tizzy with grandiose dreams of championships and Ryan Leaf commemorative trophies. As I walked up to that podium to shake Coach Cozine's hand and accept my jersey, I was solid gold, baby. Nothing was gonna stop this freight train!
Fast forward a week to the opening game of the season. We were playing the new kid on the block, Coach Leiting, and his formidable Bootleggers. Electricity was in the air, excitement was coursing through my body, and that moment approached: opening kickoff! Here I was, a member of this team, wanted by the players and the coaching staff (Coach Cozine has hired some Malaysian guy to help out; they're pretty close), and I was the one who got to touch the football first. I had a fever, and the only prescription was more pigskin!
 |
| Riding the dump truck |
To make things worse, the Rainbows went out and got David Akers as my replacement. Are you serious? I hate that phag. What a Class A douchebag. Holy shit, Akers is such a dick. And, to put the fucking icing on the cake, the team up and changes its name on me. It's like the name "Rainbows" was somehow tainted by my having been a part of it.
So anyway, here I am, jobless, penniless, friendless... worthless. I sit around my house in sweatpants eating bricks of cheese and sticks of butter. I don't even have the energy to get up and go the bathroom. I'm wasting away in a puddle of urine and feces, contemplating the sweet escape that the Smith & Wesson under my pillow could bring me. Fuck my life, bro. Fuck it in the ass. Hard.
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| Fuck. My. Life. |
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