THE APPLICATION OF DOOM.

Actually, this is just the funny portion of the application. The rest, I daresay, was a resume, and largely exaggerated.
Or not.
It was.
Not.
*Smiles.*
FAVORITE ATHLETE OR SPORT:
In my household, football is a mandatory course of existence. Perhaps not for my younger brother, who prides himself in the athletic exploits of Legos, but that’s an entirely different story. As the oldest child, I am my father’s only resource for athletic entertainment, and therefore, the “watching buddy.” And despite the fact that I’m female, seventeen, and medically forbidden from playing the game where tackling, rushing, and “sapping” threaten the human existence of two teams full of men who look as though they’re really into the pain thing, I enjoy it to a wordless degree. I grew up in St. Petersburg, where the motto is “Our Bucs Are Still Losing, But They’re Ours!” My grandfather, a season-ticket holder since the moment the team officially began its long trudge into losing, spent his game days chasing either me, my little brother, my father, or a combination of all three, up and down and up and down and sideways and down through the stands of my beloved, yet now desolate home, the Tampa Stadium. Watching the games, although thoroughly uneventful for the majority, sparked an excitement that I thought only Twinkies could provide. No, indeed: the spark was Football.
Years later, I sit at the stands of my own football stadium, the Lyman High School track, where the past year has brought joy and excitement of its own, as our Greyhounds took a little Buccaneer victory of their own, forcibly stealing the District 5 title from all of the good teams. We at Lyman were beside ourselves- Us? Winning something? It was far too good to be true, but in the end, we lost. So, it wasn’t that difficult to grapple with. All but three games this year, I sat on the sidelines, occasionally looking at the field, but primarily shielding myself from the torrential rain and/or fans. But honestly, covering some of those unceasingly emotional games for The Growl was possibly the greatest immersion into the sport of football I could have ever asked for. The forcible drive of the players, the commitment and devotion they epitomized on the field, and of course, watching them beat the living crap out of each other. That’s what I love. Not the points, or the moron quarterback, or even his slightly-less-moronic second-string quarterback; it’s the stamina, the visible and ghastly sweat, and the feeling that can come only through merciless overtime. That is why I love football.
WHAT YOU HOPE TO LEARN THROUGH THE SPORTS INSTITUTE:
Besides a mere expansion into my sports and journalistic education (Duh.), I feel that an opportunity such as the Institute will guide my personal and journalistic assertiveness. By thrusting myself into the faces, stories, and lifestyles of the athletes, coaches, and competitive community at large, I feel that my writing will become more personal, my approach more professional, and my journalistic foundation increasingly concrete.
Twenty minutes. I wrote it in twenty minutes.
And it's still awful.