As I sat in the locker room, my legs began to shake.  Bouncing up and down I could feel my calves starting to burn.  I jolted upward, violently turned about and my massive hand landed firmly and viciously against the locker behind my in the form of a fist.  Adrenaline overwhelmed me and the pain became irrelevant.   The magnitude of the day hit everyone at different points, and mine happened now.  I quickly paced the length of the great locker room and shared thoughts with my teammates through blank stares and head nods.  We all worked for this very moment. With a quickened heart and short breaths, I made quick time of strapping up my battered, black gloves and getting them taped.  Odd, I thought, how my hand shook so much today.  Rising once more, I walked past the gaping door that indicated the path leading to the warm, green turf, where I could see the fans.  Thousands had gathered to watch this final bout.  One last time I got the chance to wear the number 74 on my back.  One last time I got to strap up and go at it.  Butterflies consumed me as the power of the moment finally set in.  Sweat poured from my head as I thought about the challenge at hand.  All but sick, I sat in my seat and stared blankly into nothing.  The wild thoughts that had berated my head all day slowly dissolved into the abyss of my mind.  Now nothing remained but football.  With a clear mind and a full heart, nothing remained but to follow my coach into glory, and so out the door we ran.  Let the battle begin.