flag football.

The guys were all sitting on the wood beam at the edge of the parking lot facing the field when we pulled up.  I got out of the car in jeans and flip flops and grabbed a brown fleece zip-up out of the back seat.  

Drew stood up.  "I can't believe y'all come out here to these games," he said, shoving his sandals into a bag. 

I smiled. "Of course we come to these games.  This is the only football I really care about!"  

He shook his head and laughed.  "Y'all are some kinda fans, that's for sure."

Tuesday is the new Monday... in Winston-Salem, anyway.  Flag football; it is admittedly a little uncouth and refs are clearly not overly concerned with accuracy, and the city could really afford to spring for some new light bulbs for past-sunset games, but it is simple and organic and, in my opinion, the best kind of football there is.

The games last an hour.  They start sometime between 6:30 and 8:30 depending on your slot.  Fall comes a little later in North Carolina, but by now it gets pretty chilly when the sun goes down and it feels right to watch a game with hands in pockets of jackets and jeans.  

Some of the teams take it pretty seriously.  They've got jerseys and plenty of subs.  I think they practice.  Last years' champs hit the field looking like the Kansas Jayhawks.  My cynical side wants to make fun of the uniforms, but they are are good at football so I hold my tongue. 

Freakway, the team to which I claim allegiance, has jerseys too.  Matt, a bartender at Firebirds restaurant, made them one Sunday afternoon.  White Hanes brand t-shirts printed on with Sharpie with the team name on the front.  The store didn't have enough adult sizes when he bought them so a few of the guys wear a child large.  Kyle's hit at midriff the first week.  They've since remedied the situation... it was ugly.  

They all get there fifteen minutes before the game and line up by the field, swapping Birkenstocks for football cleats, stretching and warming up.  They throw around a couple of old footballs and swear off the stupid mistakes of previous games.  Brad blows off pre-game steam and Kyle ties up his renegade hair with an elastic

 head band.  

When the referee puts his hand up, Mark and the opposing captain meet in the middle of the field.  They shake hands to begin and then, as if the engine was suddenly started, they get serious and play football.

Kyle rushes through the line to sack the quarterback who's hopping back and forth looking for a wingman, dodging under and around the linemen.  Josh and some of the others chase down the receivers, trailing flags and flying for the interception.  Somehow Blake usually appears out of nowhere to snag a flag off the shorts of the guy who has caught the ball not three seconds beforehand.  Brad, who played football in college, drives into every play with such ferocity I think he might actually break his neck when he hits the ground and it never ceases to amaze me when he stands up again.  Mark is the quarterback.  He's got a rocket arm and he dodges defensive linemen like a mig.  Blake once said, "Mark runs as fast backwards as he does forward!"  I think he's right.  And when Mark launches the football it spirals down the field and connects perfectly to Josh's hands, or Kyle's, as if they have an invisible avenue between them.  And this is not to mention the way that somehow Seth seems to find a way up into the middle of opposition passes and snatch the ball from out of the air between them or the way that Justin comes up from underneath to catch passes that appeared to be going nowhere.  

For the first time I actually love football.  And it's not the sport.  Football has never really captivated me.  But it's the way that this game on Tuesday nights affords the guys such a good old time. It feels like for an hour once a week they can all forget about their jobs and quit worrying about the economy.  They can leave futures and girlfriends and wives and kids and just play.  They are fifteen again and the only thing that matters is the end zone.