ABSTRACT
In a game of coed, intramural flag football, during graduate school, and in the absence of my brother who otherwise “blocked” for me, I was tackled and injured by an opponent charging full speed as I ran the ball just short of a touchdown. As I sat with friends in the hospital emergency waiting room, in nearly unbearable pain, I grimaced and dropped my head. And peering down through torrential tears that clouded my vision, I discerned the brightly colored flaps of the orange flag, still intact, blanketed across my lap, ever so tightly fastened around my waist. In that moment, a frownlike smile, like sun through a cloud and brief escape from pain. He broke my leg, I thought in defeat-like pride, but he didn’t get my flag.
