Really fucking tired.
The water boys produced the slickers, helping the players shrug them on over their pads. Patton pushed his helmet up and gulped Gatorade, watching the field with a fraction of his usual interest. They were going to win this game. Patton wouldn’t dare state that out loud, superstitious enough to be wary of jinxing himself or the team. But they weregoing to win. Sometimes, he could just feel it. Like he was the center of the stadium and the entire game rotated around him like an extension of his body. He’d tried to talk about it with Chris once, but Chris either hadn’t understood or hadn’t cared. Did DeShawn ever feel that way? Was he feeling that way now?