The Cathedral

The morning’s cool, crisp air was a finisher’s medal.  It had been a long, hot summer  — and it had seemed more like a marathon than a season.  Waking up to a taste of fall was a reward.  A gift for enduring all the previous muggy mornings.

Muggy. That was a funny word.  It sounded more like “to be mugged,” which really wasn’t that inaccurate.  Lately if you walked outside, it was like someone throwing a hot, wet towel thrown over your head.  (And then try to breathing).  But not this morning.  Her lungs filled with cool, crisp air.  It was like a movie preview.  Just a few more weeks before Fall weather would arrive for good.

She walked up to the main gate of cathedral, the giant stadium where the masses worshiped college football every Saturday in the fall. Crowds were beginning to gather around it, eating their pregame meals and visiting before the big event. All were dressed in their Saturday finest.

She looked up at the cathedral. The Romans would swoon in envy if they had seen the nearly 100,000-seat monster.  And cathedrals just like this one dotted the Southeastern U.S. landscape. Each would been full to capacity today.  Saturday.  The sixth day.

She handed the lady her ticket and walked inside. She could see through the tunnel that the grass  on the field was perfectly trimmed and marked; it was waiting for the modern day gladiators to do battle. The aluminum seats shined in the sun. Football was a secular religion in these parts. The fans in their brightly colored clothing started to file in.

It was time for S.E.C. football season to start. She grabbed a program, a Coke and a bag of peanuts and found her seat.  Kickoff was in 20 minutes. Football season had begun. And she gave thanks.