They are the ones I fell in love with. I am the only one who wore them. Two muddy cleats black in color and worn out with overuse. Two cleats who work as hard for me as I did for them. Two hours of practice day in and day out. From spring, to summer, and then fall…these cleats have been through it all.
They don’t complain. They grip the grassy roots deep beneath the ground. They tear up turf with their savage claws and never quit until a champion is crowned. This is why they work. Some will forget their will and drive, and they’ll soon give out like a blown out tire, each covered with mud. Work, Work, Work they say when I’m weak. They drive.
When I am too tired and too sore to keep pushing, when I have fallen and pain takes over my body, then it is when I look to the cleats. When there is nothing left in the tank to give. Two who encouraged despite the heat. Two who stood firm and do not forget to stand firm. Two whose only reason is to win and win.