Fall is a bittersweet time for me. Of course I love the traditions and commonalities that happen ever year; the typical girly post that goes something like "OMG can it be sweater weather already?", or "I need a pumpkin spice latte and a bonfire already..." I love it. Boots and jeans are my favorite thing to wear all year 'round, and now I can do it without sweating. I love the chilly mornings and dusks illuminated by burning that old oak tree you had in the back yard. I love the holidays; Halloween, thanksgiving and the perpetual countdown to Christmas. I love harvest time and watching the farmers reap the crop of the year. I love watching football on the weekends... But also I don't. Part of me despises it and fills me with a white hot jealousy while the other part won't let me miss a game. For some reason(s) I always tell myself,"I miss football, but I would never play it again even if I had the chance." That seems to be a paradox, but let me explain why I do (and don't) miss throwing the pads on every Friday night.

Do's

The Tradition

How else can high school football be described? It's a tradition. Many kids that grew up in towns like mine played for the same school their dad was the star of back in the day (or their rival, sorry Dad). We play on the same field that year after year of men that went on to do great things in front of us. We were in the stands or listening on the radio when the older classes above us won games, conferences and even state titles. That guy you idolized in 7th grade wore that same, oversized grass stained and facemask torn jersey that you dawn every Friday. The thing you're most nervous about isn't the game, but hoping that girl you like wants to wear your jersey in the stands or, if you're lucky while she's cheering on the sidelines. "Boys of Fall" from ole Kenny hits the nail on the head.

Violence And Vendettas

Football is a violent sport. It's no secret. It provides an outlet for all the testosterone and angst filled teens that would otherwise be challenging each other to fight in the parking lot. This is why football is great. That guy from your rival school that talks a little too much trash on Twitter is now (mostly) fair game. Even if you didn't have a certain hatred for one person, you could still send a message very quickly by catching someone snoozing on a kickoff and making them regret going out for football. Someone hit you? You better hit them harder next play. That's something I miss everyday. I can't exactly just tackle some guy in class smack talking without getting thrown in jail. It solved problems pretty efficiently.

Small-town Heroes

Front pages of small publication newspapers are always plastered with the likeness of the star player from the games the night before. Being on the football team in a "nothin'" town is just about as good as being the mayor. The little kids look up to the big kids that pour their heart and soul into a game that prides itself on destruction and danger. The kid that gets hurt in the first quarter of the rival game and toughs it out the rest of the game is as close as these places get to a martyr; leaving his blood out there for the sake of a name: the name of his town or his school. Being a small town hero is an honor reserved for high schoolers in their prime. I miss that.

Don'ts

The Regimen

I hated the routine. I hated grinding out practice after practice and being exhausted in class everyday. I hated morning workouts. I hated always having painful knees and bruises. Looking back, I can't believe how much punishment my body took.

That's it.

"Huh, that's really the end? So why on earth aren't you trying to play? Even if it's just for fun."

I look at football the way I do an old relationship, friendship or anything of the like. It was very fun and I enjoyed it a lot. It had it's ups and downs. It has a special place in my heart, but it's rightful time came and went. We are not meant to live in the aura of high school for more than four years. It is a very important transition phase into life that I am grateful for, but I wouldn't want even one more day. I loved football, but I never want to play it again until my son throws a football with me in the backyard.