They are the only ones who know me. I am the only one who knows them. Ninety nine strong men with thick arms and rotten heads like mine. Ninety nine amongst the thousand in my school. Ninety nine smelly winners putting on for the community. From the hill, they can hear us, but Jimmers says it’s a waste of time.
Our unity is secret. We send deadly signals to the opponent. We grow up as one or grow up as none and stab the enemy between their bloody eyes and put our filthy cleat on their neck and never quite tell the last whistle. This is how we win.
One by one they forget their reason for playing, they all quit like no tomorrow, forgetting all the happiness holding that trophy. Quitters, quitters, quitters. They regret.
When I am to weak to stand and too sweaty to see, and just one of Ninety nine soldiers, that when I begin to play. When there is nothing left to do in my time. Ninety nine who grew without much talent. Ninety nine who hold on tight and never let go. Ninety nine one as just important as the other.