Lightening Football

When Valley High plays football, they take it seriously. They should probably stop calling it a game and call it what it really is - a battle.

Since my son is on the freshman team, this is our first year to experience the intensity first hand. That is why when storm clouds rolled in and took over the sky, I was naive enough to wonder if the game might be canceled. As kick off time approached and no word of canceling was mentioned, I dug through our camping gear and covered myself in my husband's XL rain poncho. I grabbed the umbrellas and dashed through the lightening to my Jeep wondering, "What in the world does it take for Valley to call the game?"

Then I found out. Pouring rain and nonstop lightening displays is not when Valley calls the game. When the fans sit on metal bleachers raising their lightening rod umbrellas in the air is not when Valley calls the game. When our sons run around in a wide open space as the sky illuminates their moves like a strobe light is not when Valley calls the game. Even though if they pulled that nonsense at home they would get called inside this very instant.

It is when lightening strikes straight down from the point directly above our very head and every mother sees her son's skeleton illuminated by the brilliance of the flash and the retinas of every fan are burned crisp that Valley High calls the game. And when I say they call the game, what I mean is that the Valley Tigers give God fifteen minutes to change his mind about His lightening fit. We wisely leave the metal bleachers and huddle around the concession stand as the players seek safety in the locker room.

As I stood huddled under my umbrella, which did very little good, and watched the lightening race from one end of the sky to the other, what the coaches must have done was roll some dice and decide that we might not die if we play more. So, GAME ON!

At the defiance of the Tigers, however, God became even more serious and pulled His impressive retina burning lightening trick over and over until even the Valley Tigers had to admit how puny we really are compared to violent electricity crashing to earth from the Heavens. Maybe the principal was concerned for the safety of the students, or maybe some over protective mother threw away the coach's dice and made the decision herself, but the rest of the game was postponed until the next day.

So, now I know. Immediate and certain death is when Valley calls the game.