On the couch, under a blanket, about to watch college football.

You contracted the common cold over the weekend.

Worth it.

Because Friday night, standing on the sideline, you realized something.

Traveling to support the team. Being among the parents and the cheerleaders and the drum line and the players and the trainers and the med crew. Hearing the noise. Watching all the little things that happen around a football game.

Worth it, too.

Just being there.

Being seen. Being a part of it.

Maybe that is what you come to understand after enough years of doing this. The wins and losses eventually blur together. The scores disappear. The seasons run into one another.
But not the nights.

You remember being in Athens on a Friday night, when we played that team and won. You remember staying around afterward, practically until they turned the lights out on us.

You remember the feeling of being there. Heck, we even sang Happy Birthday to one of the players. We all did – all that stayed afterwards. Now, to be clear, football people sing as bad or worse than cross country people. Bad and then some. 

But that's okay. Because – on some nights – there's no such thing as singing off key. We're parts of the whole, pieces of the puzzle. 

No, you were not and am not a major player in this game. You know that, even though you did almost cost the team five yards for getting too close to the field.

Apologies. You get excited. Often energy and instinct overrides rational good sense. Thanks to our fitness guy for boxing you out backwards. It was an honor – you'd do the same for him. 

And you were there. And we were there. 

In spirit.

In whole.

With good people.

And sometimes, maybe that's enough.

More than enough, actually.

The game was happening, and you were a part of it. 

So were we. And us. 

Worth catching a cold for?

Yeah.

You think so.
 

• Dunn