The ref's whistle, signaling the end the 2 minute warning, pierced though the chilly fall air.  A slight ring in my ears quickly followed.  My husband and I were huddled up on the ice cold bleachers trying to ignore the fact that little Billy's team was losing.  

"This means everything," mumbled one of my husband’s friends behind us. 

"Come on Pirates!" yelled another fan down the bench.  All of us were on the edge of our seats.  Shivers crept up our legs and wasn't just from the weather.  

The game resumed and all I could think was how proud of Billy I was.  My husband may have pushed him too hard sometimes but who knows? He might one day have a chance to be a professional one day.  

Just as these thoughts ran though my head I see my son lined up in the backfield to receive a handoff.

Is Billy getting the ball? 

Yes! Yes he is!  As an offensive linemen, this never happened.

I sprung up almost instantly, and I could feel Bill reach for the belt of my army jacket to pull me back down to my seat.  But instead I ripped away I could feel my legs moving with my son on the field.  Down the sideline I went keeping up with Billy for a little while.  Impressive considering I was wearing my flat brown penny loafers.  I ran and he ran and all I could see was him run past all the defenders leaving both them and myself in the dust.  

I continued racing after him down the sideline, but the bottoms of my loafers were caked with mud.  The vision of my son reaching the end zone was the last thing I saw as the world around me became a blur. Loosing all balance at full velocity, my legs shot right out from under me, and spun me right into a wet soppy mud pit the size of a sandbox.  Drenched and sodden with dirt and grime, I just sat there still too ecstatic to realize what had happened.

Unbeknownst to me, my husband was right there following me and lifted me me up.  Billy even came over to make sure I was alright.  All I could do was laugh it off even though I was still a little sore.