I'm taking some snaps at quarterback in the preseason scrimmage for the Chicago Force women's professional football team on Sunday, and I'm starting to freak out.
What began as a gonzo journalism lark,
and what then evolved into what the coach called my personal "fantasy camp," has taken on proportions of importance that have
taken me a little aback.
Over the weekend, I spent the last half hour gaping blankly at the 3-D Monsters vs. Aliens but asking and re-asking the uncertain question: Is Lion Zone Cutback a red or a black call? Yesterday I spent a wholly inappropriate portion of a funeral mass trying to conjure up a way to make better throws on the 30 Under play. And yesterday I lay awake with with a dry mouth, going over and over my read keys on the X-80 Choice.
I don't know how well I'm going to play in my personal Super Bowl, but I do know this: No matter how long our childhood dreams have been dormant, I've learned from my temporary teammates and from my own pounding heart that they retain breathtaking power.
Wish me and my inner child luck on Sunday.