Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.
It was their time to go.
They were beautiful once: glossy white and blue, leonine in their lounging grace.
But life took over, as it always does. “Nothing gold can stay,” wrote Robert Frost. Too true. Too true.
These embattled warriors carried me to Charlotte, Chapel Hill, and Alabama. They swam the marshy waters of the summer league fields. They braved the bitter cold of winter. They sweated. They stumbled. They rallied.
Held together by sheer force of will (and duct tape), they struggled on when all other cleats would have long since given up.
At last, their day has come, and they have gone to a better place.
Rest in Peace, faithful cleats. May God have mercy on your soles.