Narrative Essay On One Day Charlie Miller

That day, you were in a hurry. You had been at a party until three in the morning, and then spent the next three hours playing silly games in the hotel room you rented. Now you were dressed, so you and your friends straddled your bikes and thundered down the highway.
You had twenty minutes to be there, and there was little traffic, so you revved it all the way up to 80 on the open road and the rest of the guys followed suit. A combination of sleep deprivation and the glare from the sun (even with your visor down) was likely responsible for your misjudging that hard right turn, or so you said as you told the story later.
Honestly, you did not recall the moment when you lost control, nor how many somersaults you and your bike performed before

It had been the longest game of your life and this was the visitor’s final drive and your one shining moment. In the first five downs, you had been flattened trying to hold back the enemy line, leaving you out of breath, with a fractured rib and more bruises than you had gotten in eighth grade when you tried to slug Charlie Miller for insulting your mom. This play, however, was different. The ‘backer in front of you dodged to your right to clear a hole for the runner, but the fullback fumbled the hand-off. You spied the ball even as it left his hands. You leapt through the center to avoid the two halfbacks sent for protection, and as the line folded downfield, you scooped up the wildly bouncing ball and pumped every last ounce of energy into your legs. As you flew down the field, ignoring the pain in your knee (that knee finally gave out while skiing in the Rockies last year), it was more like the field passed around you. The gridiron rolled forward under your feet, the golden “Y” of the field goal looming large and larger. You heard no crowd shouting as you dived exhausted into the end zone. Your hearing returned on the final syllable of the announcer’s best Howard Cosell impression, “He could. . . go. . . all. . . the. . . way!” The score was now 34-30 and you had saved the final home game of the season. When the visitors wasted the final 30 seconds, the crowd rushed the field, and the fireworks were ignited, lighting up the sky, illuminating the surprised looks on your teammates’ faces as they pat you on the back and give you a sip of