He was of a burly sort, with high shoulder bones and large muscles. But he wasn't tall, more stocky and short, the type of guy you'd be forgiven for mistaking for a child at a glance. His face was broad and plain, save for a few cuts and bruises that gave it character. They were from Football practice, from his pushing himself too far during practice because he felt he had to. His name was Joe.

He wore simple clothing, a tank top and blue shorts, and unlike the students reading books around him, he did not rely on his Iphone or cellular device for time. Instead he would often cast a glance towards his bronze and faded watch, an antique from his father before he set out on the "great college journey." Joe didn't actually own a cell phone. So as Joe sat at the first floor of the Leatherby library, in the worn out and dusty chair that was likely utilized by several other students within the library. It served its purpose and that was all Joe ever needed.

Joe had multiple books in front of him, all on the same subject: English. It was his worst subject, and he was left with little choice with his spot on the team in jeopardy with his failing grades. He had to ace the next few assignments and tests, and with nothing better to do on a Sunday night, Joe thought a personal crash course on English was his best bet. Not that it was doing him very good, as the excerpts of Wordsworth, Twain, Salinger, and Frost that he read still went over his head. He couldn't see the subtleties, the meanings, or ultimately the point of written work. It was in action that the world truly ever moved.

That had been a truth of Joe's entire existence, having to work to ensure his family stayed out of debt, that he got any sort of education, and could achieve the dreams his father's leg injury curtailed. His entire life he had pushed his body to the breaking point through physical labor, but still perservered in order to carry out that dream. That one, inherited dream. And the only thing standing in his ways were a bunch of words strung together that he was told had some meaning.

He told his professor about his problem as soon as it presented itself, but all he could tell him was "Words and stories are like our lives Joe. We give them their meaning,  and go from there." Joe didn't quite understand how that worked, but he pressed on. He could not lose everything to a bunch of books and stories. Sighing as he rummaged through the pile of books he brought out a book by Michael Lewis, "The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game." Surprised at the cover picture, something seemingly ripped straight out of a football playbook, Joe opened the book.