Shaun Bradbury He was the hardest hitter. Grass in his face mask, He led with his helmet, The way they say you shouldn’t now. You get flagged for that. Spearing, they call it. Back then it was just a hell of a hit. A drill where we were set against one another In a cage meant to train us to stay low Coming out of our stance. I didn’t stand a chance. I don’t remember the white Concussive light of being hit by him, Then helped waveringly to my feet. There was no meanness in it. He was just doing what he was told to do. I went to his house once. Out of pads he was sweet and shy, The kind of boy girls die for. Think Travis Kelce If he’d never become Travis Kelce. Cluttered kitchen table, Mess of bills pushed aside To make room for place settings.
Great images, great story