Ah, yes. Nothing beats that smell—when you first enter a Subway sandwich shop.

          The scent of fresh, Italian bread baking warmly in the oven wafts through my nostrils. There are already three people in line ahead of me—a tall, lanky boy, along with a couple around my age—but I don't mind waiting. While doing so, I open up my phone and take a look at my notifications. I see that Jeffrey, the team clown, has posted a message in the team group chat. I shake my head with a smile, seeing how immature my teammates are.

         Yo, any tips on how to pee with a boner?

          Most of the guys respond with laughing emojis, and T-roy eventually claims that Jeffrey needs to stop taking viagra, which we all know is just sarcasm. He then quickly apologizes for his immaturity, and we focus back on tomorrow night's game.

          So...jokes aside...are we ready for Notre Dame? assistant coach Anton posts in the chat. Man, he's such a buzzkill. Like, have some fun every now and then. Oh, well.

          I'm going to need help down low in post, Kevin types in his poor English. We may need a double team because they big taller than me.

          I got you bro, Jeffrey replies, now taking things more seriously.

          Remember, we need to be on the team bus by 4:00 if we wanna make it over the bridge with traffic, Coach Meldrum informs. I want us there an hour before the game so we aren't rushed and can have a good warm-up.

          All the guys respond with a thumbs-up emoji, the group's way of informing they have read the text.

          I let the boys discuss their plans for tomorrow's game, as it's now time for me to order my wonderful sandwich. Nothing hits the spot like a classic Meatball Marinara sub. The same employee as always—a young Philipino man who goes by the nickname "Boss"—recognizes me as we make eye contact. He's the same guy that's been serving me here for the last ten years. He's practically memorized my order by now, out of all the hundreds and hundreds of people he serves.

          When I was a young kid, my dad would always take me to this Subway and buy me a tuna sandwich. There was a special called "Toonie Tuesday," where you could purchase a six-inch sub for only two dollars. Looking back now, I can see why some people think tuna is gross, but man I loved those sandwiches as a child. Eventually, after eating countless subs, I made the transition to meatball and never went back. It's definitely my go-to whenever I'm up at the mall in town.

          "Hey, man. Long time no see," Boss jokes, putting on a fresh pair of gloves to serve my sandwich. "What can I get for you today? Footlong meatball?"

          I laugh. "You know it."

          "Sounds good. What kinda bread you want, man?" he asks in his Phlilipno accent.

          "Italian herbs and cheese."

          "And you like that extra sauce, yeah?"

          I nod. "Of course."

          "Toasted, too, right?"

          "Yup. Gotta have it toasted."

          We both laugh this time.

          I stand in front of the counter. The hot steam coming out from the pan of meatballs excites me with delight. Watching him place the cheddar cheese over them in a perfectly straight row makes my tastebuds quiver. While my sandwich is being toasted, Boss asks me how the team is doing. He's a basketball fan himself, even though he's no taller than 5'3". But hey, you know what they say. It's not the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog.

          After hearing the beeper go off and taking my sandwich out of the toaster, Boss spreads it across the counter and prepares for my vegetables. Now, everyone has their own opinion of what they like on their sandwich, so I'm entitled to whatever I purchase. Having said that, I always go, and in this particular order: mustard, a TINY bit of lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, a FEW green peppers, hot sauce (a decent amount, but nothing too crazy), and a nice couple shakes of parmesan cheese to top it off.

          "You wanna make it a combo today, bro?" Boss asks, wrapping up my sandwich and getting ready to pay.

          "I think we both know the answer to that," I reply with another smile. I reach into the fridge and pull out a chocolate milk, and request that I get two rainbow cookies to complete the combo. The cookies here at Subway are like fucking crack. The amount of pent-up excitement I'm feeling to eat this meal is rather extreme, but I guess you could argue that I only had a single slice of toast for breakfast and it's now 3:00 in the afternoon. Regardless, I just want to eat this shit up.

          After completing the payment and saying goodbye to Boss, I take a seat and unwrap my sandwich with heavy anticipation. There are a few notifications vibrating in my pocket from my phone, but I'm much too interested in this meatball sub to care. The first few bites are always the best. Just like with the tuna sub as a kid, I make sure to enjoy and be grateful for every bite. I'm quite a gracious person, so whenever I get the opportunity to eat meals like this—even more so than usual these days—I take advantage of it.

          Every bite sends me to heaven and back. The marinara sauce is the perfect temperature, and the crunchy green peppers add a great hit. I'm not a huge vegetable guy, but I really do enjoy them on my sub sandwich. Along with the tomatoes and pickles and lettuce, all combined with the melted cheese and hot sauce that gives it a kick. The Italian bread is so fresh and warm, reminding me of the time I went with my family on vacation to Italy, not far from them now in England.

          In only a matter of minutes, I have finished off the first half of my sandwich, excited to continue the second. Somehow, someway, I'm able to resist my tastebuds for a moment and pull out the phone to check the group chat. Simultaneously eating my sandwich, I look out of the store's window and admire all the cars in the parking lot. It's another sunny day, but there's a rather chilly wind in the air. I feel so cozy in here eating my sandwich and enjoying myself. I crack open my chocolate milk, taking a few swigs to wash the sandwich down.

          I start making my way into the two cookies. As I said, the cookies here are ADDICTIVE. That's the reason I always joke they're like crack. Even if you aren't a Subway fan, you have to admit that these cookies are to die for. The textures and dough are so soft and luscious inside my mouth. The aftertaste leaves a warm sense of euphoria flowing throughout my body. I make sure to cherish every bite like this is going to be the final meal of my entire life.

          Completing the cookies, along with finishing off my chocolate milk, I'm about to exit the store. But for some reason, I just can't do so. Like I said, I haven't had anything to eat today, so I feel like I can take home another six-inch. I've been getting away with this stuff for the last while, but after the season officially starts, I'm going to cut back on my diet. I'm just so happy and in a good place in my life, that I can't help but celebrate with delicious food.

          "Hey, Boss," I call into the back of the store, since I'm now the only one present to serve.

          Boss comes back out and asks, "What can I do for you, bro?"

          "Imma' get me another six-inch to take home," I reply.

          "Meatball?"

          "Yes, sir."

          Once again, going through the same process of customizing my sandwich and paying for it, I leave the store and begin making my way home. The town mall is within walking distance from my house, so I don't bother to drive my car.

          When I eventually get home, I open the door with the spare key hidden in the family shoe rack. Speaking of family, I'm going to be FaceTiming my parents tonight. The house has been feeling a little lonely without them. If I didn't have all my close teammates and girlfriend, I probably would get depressed or something. As I mentioned earlier, they're going to be away in England for a full six months. All I can do is try my best to keep in contact with them through the touch of a screen.

          I place my sandwich down on the coffee table, making my way to the bedroom. I want to slip into something more comfortable before I eat the remainder of my sub. Even though it's only 3:30, I feel cozy putting on some pyjama bottoms. They're brown and have stripes running across them, and always make me feel like a little kid again. 

          I slip my shirt off, ready to change into something that will make me feel good, when once again I look at myself in the mirror and notice something as I stand there shirtless.

          My six-pack, usually defined and muscular, doesn't look the same as summer. I was cut and chiselled—not huge and bulky—but toned with low body fat. I'm not saying I look horrendous right now. I'm surely still in better shape than 95% of people, but for me, as the athlete I know I'm capable of being, this is certainly not the best form I've looked in a while. Again, now my whole body this time, is looking ever so slightly rounder than before. Shaking my head, playing it off again like the time I did in Tony's car, I make my way to the dinner table, not making much of it.

           All I want to do is finish my delicious sandwich.