by JT Pearson
*
The score was tied at fourteen apiece with five minutes remaining when, during an injury timeout, Kim suddenly turned to John.
“John, I’ve got to tell you something.”
He was looking at the downed player with a pair of binoculars. “That poor kid – looks like his ankle.”
“John, listen to me for a minute.”
“What?” He signaled for the man selling hotdogs in the stands but was ignored.
“It’s important.”
He slapped his stomach. “I know. I’ll start a diet tomorrow. Broccoli and everything.”
“No. John.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to listen to me. Really listen to me.”
He put the binoculars down and looked her in the eyes. “What’s so important?”
“I thought you’d be angry so I never told you, and it’s been eating me up all these years.”
John started to worry. “What? Are you okay? Are you sick?”
“No.” She started to cry. “I just was never able to tell you because I thought you’d be disappointed in me.”
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t able to do it.”
“To do what?”
“To sleep with Favre.”
“You did.”
“I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.”
“But he was with you for over half an hour.”
“We just sat on the bed and talked about you and all of your crazy ideas and how important it was to you to have a son and Brett really did understand. But I told him I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sleep with him. So he agreed, and after a while, he left, promising not to tell you that I couldn’t go through with it, promising to keep it a secret.”
The game had resumed as they were talking and young Favre Newton was back out on the field. He took his spot behind the center to call the play.
The Bruins flag dropped out of John’s hand and buried itself in someone’s abandoned popcorn.
“Wait a second. Favre came from me – and you? He’s ours?” John asked, hardly able to contain himself.
“Yes.”
“But he’s so big? So athletic?”
“He’s yours.”
Now, they both had tears in their eyes.
John’s son, Favre Jonathon Newton, stepped back and launched a sixty yard bomb that flew above the crowd so high and tight that it looked as though it might leave the game and start orbiting the earth.
And suddenly God reached down and pulled the middle-aged couple from the stands and they found themselves in another state of being, an extraordinary privilege generously given to Kim once again, and for John, this once and only once. And they could both see and feel the universe in all of its glory – and feel God’s people – and the bond that unites us all, and they were immersed in all that is good that God has created, and it was bliss.
And then the ball left the stadium, and John and Kim traveled with the ball, and what was grand in size before them was now minimal, and what was loud was now silent, and up above the city they could see people leaving restaurants, a woman hanging a bird feeder, cars going where they needed to be, men growing older, mothers becoming mothers to mothers that will become mothers to mothers, and on and on and on. They could see the creation and movement of life.
And as Kim traveled with the ball across the sky, she remembered burping baby Favre over her shoulder and then laying him down to sleep with his tiny football when he was only five months old.
And as John traveled with the ball so high above the stadium, he remembered teaching young Favre how to throw a spiral in the back yard when he was four.
And the ball continued to soar higher above the city, rotating like some alien craft, silently burrowing an invisible tunnel toward its destination. A dark prowler sneaking along through the stars.
And then the ball descended, and John and Kim came back toward the stadium and eventually back to their seats. And they could hear the people again, and the crowd and the field growing by the second, and two warriors, one clad in red armor, the other in white, were thundering across the grid with their eyes fixed on the ball, and it kept coming down, getting closer, and it was thirty feet above the two players.
And like Brett Favre said, there’s a lot that goes into making a legend.
And the ball was twenty feet above the players.
Mothers becoming mothers to mothers.
And like Brett Favre said, there’s a lot that goes into making a legend.
And the ball was fifteen feet above their heads.
Fathers holding sons, their priceless treasures.
And like Brett Favre said, there’s a lot that goes into making a legend.
And the ball was ten feet above them.
And their arms stretched out as far as they could reach.
And like Brett Favre said, there’s a lot that goes into making a legend.
And the ball was five feet above their outstretched arms.
And like Brett Favre said -
The End
