A beautiful September evening, my 11-year-old grandson, Josh, and his team were warming up for their first football game of the season.
At six, the 1 called the captains forward, said something and 2 his whistle. The two teams 3 separately. I was 4. The other team was, 5, ten inches taller than our players. It didn't take long for their 6 advantage to show. They took a 7-0 lead very 7 . At the half, the score stood at 34 to 6. Josh 8 minimal play time. In the second half, they used Josh more often. The score climbed to 40 to 6.
Once again, the other team began their 9 down the field. Their quarterback threw the ball. The receiver caught it and 10 the goal. There was only one man in his 11 —Josh. Josh dove and 12 that boy's legs with all his strength. The receiver dragged Josh a couple of yards and 13 fell down.
On the next play, their quarterback shot through an opening and rushed to the goal, but there was Josh again. Josh took him off his feet and 14 another goal. They scored on the last play. But it wasn't Josh's 15. The game ended with a score of 48 to 6.
On the way home. I wanted to 16 Josh, but he turned to me with a 17 smile. "Grandpa, that was a18 game."
"But you lost, 48 to 6!"
"I know, but I did good."
The boy understood the 19 better than I did. They didn't win, but he did his best. I was proud of him. More 20 , he was proud of himself.
