Sean Wilson

The season opener flew by so fast it makes my head swim.

The clock ran down and the crowd erupted and everybody on the bench rushed the field in celebration. The first game of the season, a win. Minnesota beats Philadelphia, and the hopes of the city are flying high.

I pushed through the players and the media and ran straight toward you, cleats and all. I’m wasn’t really thinking about the media or the fans, but I heard them cheer as I got to you, pulling you into a sweaty kiss, the taste of you flooding my senses. The sound of the stadium fading into a dull hum as my lips brushed yours again.

One down, baby. Vegas next.

--- The thing about this game is that it’s the first time you haven’t travelled with me in almost two seasons. I can’t even remember the reason why you decided not to come, but I miss you like a limb. My chest feels tight, and something about today just feels off, but I put it down to the fact that you didn’t come with me. It’s nothing. I’m just being paranoid.

The Vegas weather is scorching. I can feel the heat beating into my skin, boiling every drop of my blood. That aggression, that frustration, that damn ache of you not being here… I channel every ounce of it into the game.

Every hit is harder, every pass is further, stronger, more agressive than I’ve ever played before. Because I’m playing for you all those miles away in Minneapolis. I want you to feel this game through the screen. I want every step I take out there on that field to echo through the speakers of the TV at home, so you know this win is yours.

Every hit is a struggle. Controlled fury unleashed like a phantom across the field. I don’t stop until the clock runs down.

And it does.

And we win.

I find the nearest camera and look straight into it, before bringing two fingers to my chest and tapping it twice. I know you’ll see it. I know you’re watching. I feel it. All these miles away, I feel your eyes on me.

I get swept into the whirlwind of the media scrum and the post-game celebrations. The team heads back to the hotel. Dinner and drinks are on the agenda, and I’ll go. I know I’ll go. But first, I have to hear your voice. I need it like I’m dying of thirst in the desert. I pull out my phone as we file onto the bus and dial your number. It barely rings once before the call connects. A grin breaks out on my face.

There you are… Did you watch?