Gemotions

The weight of the helmet felt heavier than usual on his head. He adjusted the chin strap, the familiar snap a hollow sound in the empty stadium. He'd always been the linebacker, the one who delivered the bone-jarring hits, the one who lived for the thrill of the tackle. Now, he was being moved to offensive line.

He walked onto the field, the green grass stretching before him. He’d spent years perfecting his instincts, the ability to read the play, the anticipation that allowed him to be one step ahead. Now, he would be blocking. He would be creating openings for others.

He imagined the linemen, the unsung heroes of the game. He felt a wave of respect. He wasn't the star, but a contributor. He imagined the physical punishment, the relentless battles in the trenches.

He felt the old adrenaline, ready to burst. He remembered the thrill of the hit, of the crowd's reaction to a big play. Now, he'd have to learn a new language, a new way of playing the game. He kicked a divot in the grass, the sound oddly satisfying. He would do it.