The human body isn't designed for this.
Sweat pouring down like a waterfall, lungs wheezing like a broken vacuum cleaner, and legs that feel like wet noodles? Yeah. Definitely not designed for this.
And all of it… for a ball.
A round, overpriced lump of stitched leather. Humanity's greatest invention apparently. People scream for it, cry for it, worship it like it's some divine artifact that descended from the heavens. Meanwhile, I'm here praying for death to take me quickly before my knees explode.
I hate football.
Let me repeat that for the people in the back…..I. Hate. Football!!!
Why? Oh, I've got a looong list.
One: running. I don't run….Period. My ancestors invented cars and bicycles so I wouldn't have to. Running is for people escaping wild or semi domesticated animals like Lions, Bears, Geese and that one time with a very angry Hen or maybe even chasing ice cream trucks. Not for me though.
Two: the smell. Have you ever been trapped in a locker room with twenty sweaty teenagers who think deodorant is a myth? If hell exists, that's it.
Three: the fans. Entire grown adults willing to fistfight because their favorite guy in shorts kicked the ball slightly better than the other guy in shorts. If aliens visited Earth during a football match, they'd nuke us on the spot.
Four: the diving...I've seen men who probably have adult children at home turn into bad third rate actors the moment someone breathes near them. They collapse like they've been shot by a sniper from three kilometers away or like marionettes with cut strings….Legendary acting? Oscars all around.
Five: the coach. Every football coach I've ever met is just a frustrated ex-player taking out his dreams on children.
"Run faster!
Work harder!
Put your soul into it!"
Sir, I barely put my soul into brushing my teeth this morning, and you want me to sacrifice it for this? I think I'll pass thank you.
Six: the uniforms. Tight polyester shirts that trap heat like you're wearing an oven mitt, shorts so short you wonder if modesty laws exist here, and socks that slide down the moment you start running. Stylish? No. Comfortable? Absolutely not.
And don't even get me started on shin guards. Whoever invented those clearly hated children, don't ask me why or how, just note it!!
So yeah. I hate football. Always have, always will.
…Which makes it a very good question why the hell I'm here, drenched in sweat, stumbling around this cursed field like an idiot.
The sun is merciless overhead, baking us alive. The field itself is more dust than grass, every step kicks up a cloud that fills my lungs. Teammates shout at me:
"Mark your man, Kai!"
"Don't just stand there!"
"Move your legs, idiot!"
Trust me, I'd love to move my legs. But they've staged a rebellion. Every step feels like they're filing a complaint to my brain: 'Dear management, we quit….yesterday.'
The whistle shrieks. The ball rolls my way….
I see it, I'm unmarked and I'm also less than 20 yards to the goal
I freeze. This is it. This is the moment. Do something, Kai.
A teammate yells: "Pass!"
Pass? To who? Everyone looks the same in these sweaty, mud-stained uniforms! I panic, kick the ball, and it rockets…..straight out of bounds…...
"Useless!" someone shouts in exasperation.
I bow dramatically. "Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week..."
Not out loud, of course. I'd like to keep my teeth intact. But in my head, I'm killing it with the sarcastic stand-up routine.
You're probably asking:
"If you hate football so much, why are you playing it?"
Excellent question. I'd love to know the answer too.
Because football already killed me once.
No, seriously. It killed me.
One second I was walking home, minding my own business. The next, there's this kid chasing a ball into the road, headlights screaming toward him, and then bam. I didn't even think. I just moved. Shoved the kid out of the way. Then everything went black.
And my final thought?
"I can't believe I died because of football. I hate this stupid sport."
Darkness. Silence. And then… I woke up.
Different name. Different body. Same world?
No explanation. No "Welcome, chosen one!" speech from some glowing deity. No cheat skills. Just wake up, deal with it.
Life's funny like that.
Anyway, fast forward to today: me, Kaito Phillips…Kai, for short, half-dead on a high school football pitch, questioning every decision that led me here.
The referee blows the whistle again. The game restarts. The ball flies past me, my teammates groan, the coach screams something about effort, and I just keep running in slow motion, wondering when my lungs will file for divorce.
And as I drag myself forward, one thought echoes in my skull:
What the hell am I doing here!?