Fuhball.

I'm not going to miss the Hail Mary passes.

The crazy 60 yard dashes.

The great sacks of the opposing qb.

I'm not going to miss the wins.

The losses.

The flip flop around the side plays.

What I am going to miss is the jerseys.

The way they feel.

The way they smell.

The way we help each other roll the sleeves and put on our cutest jeans.

I'm going to miss the bus rides.

The smell of a cool fall night.

The stocking hats that don't match anything we're wearing.

The sweatshirts under the jerseys, because we still need to rep our boys.

I'm going to miss the way I look at the boys.

The way I know each and every one of them.

The way I can look at their number out on that field and know who it is and yell for them.

The way I can dig up a story on everyone.

There's a sense of pride there.

Being able to say, I know that guy.

I've been riding buses, picking boogers, swapping stories, and maybe even a little tale of our own with that guy.

I remember when he wasn't such hot shit.

Back when he had braces, before his teeth were so gorgeous.

Before he learned how to make his hair look that nice.

Before he mastered the art of shaving.

Before he was that awesome guy, he was my dorky best friend.

That's why they're my boys.

That pride,

that's what I'll miss most.

I'll get over the smell of the grass on a Friday night.

I'll get over the sounds of a commute.

I'll even get over the jerseys.

But I'll always remember that pride.

I'll always remember my boys.

As long as I live.