So this is where I'm supposed to pitch you on donating money to me for this event.  The problem is, I'm not a talented enough writer to say things that won't come off as either hackneyed or intolerably sappy.

So, rather than the stream of quasi-clever nonsense that I'd normally fill a page with, can we pretend that this little box is instead filled with an expertly-crafted treatise on charitable giving that makes your heart soar with philanthropic joy and inspires you to donate, either by giving money directly or by simply linking this page on your social media accounts and getting the word out to others.

This glorious stream of prose might talk about how I got a chance to meet some of the beneficiaries of this organization in a pediatric cancer ward in Houston.  

And it would describe, in moving detail, how each of these kids are so used to being intravenously attached to giant bags of chemicals that they barely even notice the IV poles they're pushing around with their little hands anymore.  And how the first thing they do when entering a room is sheepishly scan the walls for a place to plug in their monitoring equipment before it starts beeping.

I'd tell you how quickly you'd see that these are just children. Like yours or those in your family. Like mine. One told me he was looking forward to playing football soon with his brother.  Another was ready to take dance classes again.  And one little girl just wanted to be strong enough to stand up on her own, and get out of her wheelchair. At this point I'd probably write an eloquent and grounding paragraph about how these are all just kids who want to be normal and how unfair it is that they're having to suffer.

Or maybe I'd regale you with tales of how, when I told a table full of 6 to 8-year-olds what we were doing for them, they gushed about how lucky we are to be allowed to play video games "FOR 24 WHOLE HOURS!" and begged to be able to play with us.  One asked if I was going to come pick him up and bring him to my house so he could play too. I simply smiled and said, "we'll see..." because how do you say no to something like that?

Perhaps I'd also write about how I got to meet their parents.  How their faces were sunken and stoic from months, sometimes years, of stress and worry.  And how they appreciated, but weren't all that interested in, what we were doing for their kids. Because their entire focus was on the health of their child.  There was simply no room for anything else.

All day.  Every day.  Fight the worry.  Look strong. Cry in the dark. Hope. And pray.  

I'd tell you of the makeshift beds that lay strewn in the corners of every single room I visited, where these parents slept each night.  Because how could they possibly be anywhere else but next to their sick baby girl or boy?

I'd also include an inspiring, if slightly boastful, section about how, back when I started my first Extra Life team in 2009, we helped Extra Life raise a whopping $450,000.  Last year, Extra Life made over $9 million. And I think we can double that number this year.
Now, I know $18 million dollars sounds like a ludicrous total.  

But maybe...if we all pitch in...  
Just maybe?

And here at the end is where I'd remind you that we all have a chance to make a difference.  You do.  Right now.  A silent echo sounding from laptops and tablets and cell phones all over the world, reaching kids who've been dealt rags of a hand and who want nothing more than to just go home.

Yeah.  That's it.  That's what I'd like to have written.

But now, let's both stop pretending that we've done something.
Instead, please scroll up and hit that big, green "DONATE" button at the top of this page.  And if not on mine then on any other R1-UP player of your choice. Because these kids, and their parents, have been through enough.  And if we can help them even the tiniest of fractions then it's on all of us to do everything we can for them.

And I'll thank you on behalf of all the little ones who can't.

Thank you.

-Jeremiah J. Shaw-
R1-UP Team Captain, 2023