With the soldiers running, passing, and catching the football like middle school kids--I get a few passes and start joining in.
"LT's got an arm! I want him on my team!" SPC Short said.
When they gather the teams, I hear some talk of "LT is one of the team captains."
Knowing I would just be following the will of the first person I pick anyway--I jokingly say, "One of you go, I don't want to be a captain, I'll be a Captain in two years anyway."
No need to be in charge all the time.
With every down, marching towards each glorious end zone marked by rocks and engineering tape, we play with effort and schoolyard frustration. Even with helicopters flying overhead and a myriad of mismatched PT gear that is only typical of unorganized events, we are somehow away from here.
Set. Hike.
The dust fills the lungs with the feeling of a tough swim. The deep inhale brings the endorphins out and the dry cake of sand layers the skin with toughness.
Run, get open, and make the catch.
Drop back, cover your man, rush the QB. Make jokes about each other. Congratulate a good throw, a good catch, a funny mistake.
“SFC Grump. All-American Class of 1865,” SGT Bucks shouts as my PSG gets set to drop back as QB on the opposing team. We collectively laugh even as the play begins. SFC Grump completes the pass and shouts back an insult at SGT Bucks.
My team gets a few points down. I make a few catches, a few touchdowns, and --feeling a flash of confidence--I ask to take QB from SGT Bucks. Down the dust field, he's open and I launch it right to Bucks. Touchdown.
An interception, a pass completion, a touchdown catch, a nice play by a teammate. The feeling of victory from these small triumphs far surpass the monotonous task completions of a SITREP, a Power Point presentation, or an inventory.
Taken together, the victories make a true break from the grind with my company’s soldiers. These are the moments a man stays in the Army for.
The sun sets on another Sunday in Iraq.
