Thundering, roars of the crowd,
Echoing all around us,
Piercing in our ears,
Rolling around the stands,
Flying through the air,
As the soldiers of the battlefields,
Run onto the soft green turf.
Their heads held high,
And you can feel their adrenaline pumping.
As the rockets and fireworks around them blare,
The planes fly over head,
Shaking the stadium and filling peoples headís with incredible noises,
The players begin to warm up,
Stretching the muscles that have created them a career.
The stomping and clapping,
That welcomes them onto the field.
The booing and hollering,
Warning the competitors itís our territory.
Just a regular Sunday,
To all the head to toe covered with protection players.
Just a future vision,
To all the young dreamers watching and staring in the crowd.
Itís their game,
Itís their life.
We can only watch.