Football stadiums aren't supposed to fly!
In case anyone was wondering, football stadiums aren't supposed to fly. i think we'eve all had a football game experience here in the americas, and i'm thinking everyone's going to guarantee the stadiums stay on the ground. Like they should.
i'm not saying there aren't freak events in nature, which i guess we optimists would like to call "miracles," but who would have guessed these freak events could have occurred against what we all considered to be sturdy infrastructure? i'm writing this from experience, and about three thousand other eyeballs are with me in this. validity is encouraged through the multitudes. to begin with, i've been in the high school band since eighth grade. i entered the musical world early because of some radical french horn abilities, so i've endured plenty of mediocre football games while playing in the stands, and chanced upon a couple of engrossing ones along the way. in none of those games has the stadium just wafted away like an enormous airplane. the company and excitement is lofty enough and in our teenage ambitions we might think we've been flying, but the cold hard facts just didn't permit it. but now i have some great news for my airborne aspirations. during the most recent playoff game, my friend sara and i decided to abandon the rest of the band members and climb to the top of the stadium to perform soloist serenades. halfway there i couldn't help but notice the trying length of the ascent, and hadn't remembered it to take so long in the past. i didn't complain, just kept going. a half an hour passed and we were still trudging up the bleachers.
"this shouldn't take this long," sara remarked with a gasp.
"Yeah, definitely." we looked behind us to see the field was the size of my palm and the players like scurrying protozoa under a microscope. there were no fans up here, just a hollow wind beating us from the north. something eerie tapped our shoulders and we continued upward, until finally we reached the brim of the stadium and plopped down in exhaustion. not a moment after we readied our lips to start playing french horn, there was a peculiar shift in the stadium's foundation, almost as if an earthquake had rumbled through. the game went on as if nothing had happened, so we just assumed it was our imagination.
Bur buh duh durhhh! sang our french horns. the stadium shook again, this time a bit more violently. the people below seemed disconcerted and starting milling between the sitting and standing positions like they were deciding which was the wiser. there was no third disturbance. the ground circa the field, like a slice of birthday cake, departed from the rest of the world and up both sides of the stadium went, drowned in what sounded like the roar of jet engine plane. the first thing i did was look to the press box just above me, where i spotted the pilot himself steering us about and giving "niner niner" communication through a little headset. the confusion i felt was paramount. the game below us had appropriately stopped, and in fact, the field itself was obscured in sheets of passing clouds. i looked to sara, who simply seemed to be enjoying the view, and then dared stand up and peek over the edge of the bleachers. we had already gone up a few thousand. you could see the patterns of farmland contrasting with the metro sprawl, and in the distance, the slight curvature of the earth and its tapestric display of grassland. up and up we traveled. and it really got to the point i was convinced that we were never to return, on our way to another dimension. obviously stuff like this doesn't just up and happen without some ethereal purpose. maybe we were going to meet our Maker. my persuasion was soon dashed. suddenly the "nose" of the plane turned 90 degrees downward, the rising came to an end, and we began to sharply plummet. the roar of wind forced the tears out of my eyes. i think our french horns were swept away, but we somehow stayed in place, screaming madly as the ground grew closer and more defined at every second. there seemed no alternative. we were going to die!
the world was distant, and from up so high, it seemed strange we actually lived down there. i thought people might close their eyes in instances like these, but i couldn't close them for a second. stadiums don't fly, if i got that part right, so "logically," there was no reason not to observe.
just a second later, i watched a beautiful parachute unfurl from the field goal and expand enormously into shape. it included every color in the spectrum and made deep undulations all throughout its length. it was much nicer looking than the american flag.
we settled comfortably enough on the ground and earned the gazes of thousands of bystanders and the attention of worldwide media teams. so i guess the only point in jotting all this down is to say that the impossible really can happen! at least when you've got a colorful parachute up your sleeve.
the end
i'm not saying there aren't freak events in nature, which i guess we optimists would like to call "miracles," but who would have guessed these freak events could have occurred against what we all considered to be sturdy infrastructure? i'm writing this from experience, and about three thousand other eyeballs are with me in this. validity is encouraged through the multitudes. to begin with, i've been in the high school band since eighth grade. i entered the musical world early because of some radical french horn abilities, so i've endured plenty of mediocre football games while playing in the stands, and chanced upon a couple of engrossing ones along the way. in none of those games has the stadium just wafted away like an enormous airplane. the company and excitement is lofty enough and in our teenage ambitions we might think we've been flying, but the cold hard facts just didn't permit it. but now i have some great news for my airborne aspirations. during the most recent playoff game, my friend sara and i decided to abandon the rest of the band members and climb to the top of the stadium to perform soloist serenades. halfway there i couldn't help but notice the trying length of the ascent, and hadn't remembered it to take so long in the past. i didn't complain, just kept going. a half an hour passed and we were still trudging up the bleachers.
"this shouldn't take this long," sara remarked with a gasp.
"Yeah, definitely." we looked behind us to see the field was the size of my palm and the players like scurrying protozoa under a microscope. there were no fans up here, just a hollow wind beating us from the north. something eerie tapped our shoulders and we continued upward, until finally we reached the brim of the stadium and plopped down in exhaustion. not a moment after we readied our lips to start playing french horn, there was a peculiar shift in the stadium's foundation, almost as if an earthquake had rumbled through. the game went on as if nothing had happened, so we just assumed it was our imagination.
Bur buh duh durhhh! sang our french horns. the stadium shook again, this time a bit more violently. the people below seemed disconcerted and starting milling between the sitting and standing positions like they were deciding which was the wiser. there was no third disturbance. the ground circa the field, like a slice of birthday cake, departed from the rest of the world and up both sides of the stadium went, drowned in what sounded like the roar of jet engine plane. the first thing i did was look to the press box just above me, where i spotted the pilot himself steering us about and giving "niner niner" communication through a little headset. the confusion i felt was paramount. the game below us had appropriately stopped, and in fact, the field itself was obscured in sheets of passing clouds. i looked to sara, who simply seemed to be enjoying the view, and then dared stand up and peek over the edge of the bleachers. we had already gone up a few thousand. you could see the patterns of farmland contrasting with the metro sprawl, and in the distance, the slight curvature of the earth and its tapestric display of grassland. up and up we traveled. and it really got to the point i was convinced that we were never to return, on our way to another dimension. obviously stuff like this doesn't just up and happen without some ethereal purpose. maybe we were going to meet our Maker. my persuasion was soon dashed. suddenly the "nose" of the plane turned 90 degrees downward, the rising came to an end, and we began to sharply plummet. the roar of wind forced the tears out of my eyes. i think our french horns were swept away, but we somehow stayed in place, screaming madly as the ground grew closer and more defined at every second. there seemed no alternative. we were going to die!
the world was distant, and from up so high, it seemed strange we actually lived down there. i thought people might close their eyes in instances like these, but i couldn't close them for a second. stadiums don't fly, if i got that part right, so "logically," there was no reason not to observe.
just a second later, i watched a beautiful parachute unfurl from the field goal and expand enormously into shape. it included every color in the spectrum and made deep undulations all throughout its length. it was much nicer looking than the american flag.
we settled comfortably enough on the ground and earned the gazes of thousands of bystanders and the attention of worldwide media teams. so i guess the only point in jotting all this down is to say that the impossible really can happen! at least when you've got a colorful parachute up your sleeve.
the end
Comments
Post a Comment