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When the Blues turn Red
By Christopher J. Bradley
3/7/01 5:03:39 PM

Blood moves through the veins and arteries
Of a living man
Mutating from Blue to Red
Oxygenating the body
Swiftly in pulsations.

I think my pulse must have risen
The day it all became possible
Our region was within a breath of victory
My street's value could rise with a kick.

I lived on Norwood Avenue that year
The year the pressure caved
The star kicker for the Buffalo Bills
And the ball came down on rough grass.

Football is more lifestyle than sport to many Americans
It's players are the new gladiators of the Western Empire
They are one with our Art Commerce Trade and Literature
Of that last note this becomes a less than unique work.

Televised action however
Cannot compare with
The force of mass crossed with acceleration
In an inelastic forty yard line collision
Of flesh bone and gristling jaws.

I pressed into the mash a few times
In a red and grey t-shirt
On a field with my compatriots
Not far from Kominski park
In the shadow of Chicago's elevated train.

We were the champions of the season
Of an epic traversal
Through bruise and bone-shatter
We trudged through the cold wet muck of October.

And we drank
And we sang
And we dined.

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