For one season in the national football league, I was in the zone.
It's not one of those things that you can explain.
That one year as a running back with the Miami dolphins,
I was zig zagging past defenders almost effortlessly.
I had zest and pizzazz. I had a right sense of humour, that the press just loved.
Then after that season, it was like I couldn't play anymore.
I don't know what happened. I knew I wasn't my usual zealous self.
The zeal I had previously possessed for football was gone. I didn't hate it.
I just wasn't in love with the game anymore.
The zenith of my career came and went like a lightning bolt.
At one time just the mention of football produced a smile on my face, later the best I could do was yawn.
After two more years in the NFL, in which I yielded no memorable performances at all.
I quit and went back home. I suppose I could have rung my hands and cried,
letting out a big yelp of depression, but that wouldn't have helped anything.
I was lucky and that I had made some good money during the three years that I had spent as a professional athlete.
I wasn't stupid like some guys. They spent all the money even before it arrives.
I wasn't going to do that. I had my mother to take care of.
She took care of me when I was young by stringing together bits of yarn to make mittens for children.
She looked after me dearly and always encouraged my football career.
She was the yolk at the centre of our family's egg.
It was now time for me to take care of her and her old age.
I bought her a nice house in a rural area, by some beautiful mountains. She loves it and so do I.
We live a simple life. It's a long way from the fame of glory from the NFL. But I will take it.
Sure, sometimes I yearn for my glory days on the grid iron. But I know that will never be again.
I can be happy that I at least made a wrinkle, however small in the world of professional sports.
I will always be mentioned in the history books and that's good enough for me.
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