It was an epic moment, one that I only saw clearly my mind's eye the next morning when I awoke. That Saturday I was too caught up, enmeshed in the moment, standing there under the spreading whatever kind of tree it was, dark clouds heavy and horizontal over the field, cold rain coming down ceaselessly, snow spitting down lightly at first then relentlessly, watching that boy of mine along with teammates totally kicking their opponents collective asses in the final match of a weeklong tournament, tallying up a final win out of a long spring season fraught with few wins and many losses, I was a proud, wet, cold and soaked through papa, but not near as cold and soaked through as those young warriors were who were duking it out on the lacrosse field for honor and glory. I saw my boy for the first time as a young man that day, no longer the young lad on the floor playing with his toy soldiers but as a young hairy chested soon to be hombre who was more than happy to tell me all about his dreams about going airborne or being a Navy SEAL after graduation. Sigh.
I stood there watching the water come off the field in buckets as those kids hit the ground in pursuit of a win and a dream and thought, much later, of that final battle scene in The Seven Samurai. I will forever and always think of that day, of those boys in the midst of their very real and epic "battle", every time I go to watch that film from here on out. I have seen Kurosawa's masterpiece a couple dozen times or more but never have I seen that final scene reenacted or lived so purely or realistically as I did that day. No blood was shed but man, those kids had heart! Kurosawa would have been proud of their warrior spirit!
Action!
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