Canadian football. Such an oxymoranical term. And we’re talking full on, no pads, tackle football, not that measly flags or two hand touch crap. I thought that Canadians were known for being all nice and mild mannered… and yet here we are, the Mennonite University College, in Canada, getting together and tearing each other to bits. Go figure.

Grebel bowl is a game of frosh against upper years; we play girls against girls and guys against guys, thank goodness. But, as our team of frosh girls started to form, a realization dawned upon me. I was the football expert. Being girls, and living in Canada, most of the other frosh on my team knew squat. Oh dear.

Now if you know me, you would know how funny this is. Me, a marching band geek, who hates football with a passion, is the one who ends up telling people what to do and how to play football. Me, whose athletic ability has been surpassed in the past by a six year old. The height of irony has fully been achieved.

But, in the end, I guess the violent sport of football made my American genes take over. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, all I wanted to do was take people down, limb by limb. I bared my teeth and growled at the upper year facing me, daring her to try to stop me from taking down the quarterback.

Then, my chance came. I dove for the ball, intercepted it from the center, and clenched it to my body, daring anyone to try to steal my prize from my vise-like grip. After my possession was confirmed, I threw my hands up in the air and let out a war cry! How dare these upper years doubt the power of the frosh? We will be victorious!!!

In the end, we lost. The score of the upper years was at least triple our 2 measly touch downs. But no matter. Next year, I will prevail. I will once again resurrect my aggressive American genes and plunge into the intertwined writhing mass of bodies that congregates over the brown, oblong pigskin. I will extract the prized football, let out a battle cry, and prove to the world that I am one girl that you don’t wanna mess with.