Addiction is green.
It looks like crisp and clean jerseys with dry cracked mud on cleats and 11 players standing in discipline on the flawless grass with a look of determination.
It sounds like the loud constant thudding of 11 pairs of feet on a hard ungiving ground.
It sounds like voices rasping trying to gasp for air while yelling switch, center, stick with, man one, got me, and line.
It tastes like a tire like substance caught in your mouth like grit and the stale flavored grass stuck between your teeth like toothpicks.
It smells like jerseys so soaked with sweat they give off a sickly sweet smell that confuses the sences.
It feels like an overwhelming rush that can last a life time.
It feels like an additive high.