Gamer
The best teams all have one, the guy who finds a different gear on game day. Sure, he goes hard in practice too, but when things get real, he’s just a different animal. We’re not talking about ‘apples and oranges’. You might as well compare pineapples and hand-grenades. He’s a gamer.
It’s fundamental, not a matter of effort so much as a function of constitution. It’s just in there. Who knows where it comes from, and really, who cares? Because hot damn, it sure is a pleasure to be there it comes out!
That’s the only way I can make sense, for myself, of the dog that showed up on opening day. The look in her eye as I slipped on my vest and picked-up the 12-gauge took me straight back to the locker room, the National Anthem and the shimmer of contagious energy radiating from those few gifted teammates.
How does she know, I wondered? But it was no time for questions.
It was game time.
How do they know? When I simply take my running shoes out of the closet he goes crazy, but when the shotgun comes out it is a whole different level of anticipation and excitement. There is a sense of business to be done and an air about him that says this is what I love and what I was created to do. I’ve come to enjoy watching him work more than the thrill of the flush and the shot. We are one in the field and I swear he turns to smile at me after every success and then quickly gets back to work. I know at the end of the day he is thinking the same thing I am, I don’t want it to end, one more bird.
So true. Thanks Ryan.