Some people might think that you're of your rocker if you call this game football instead of

I hold a thousand stories yet tell none of my own. I am crossed by those who fear me, Followed by those who trust me, And forgotten by those who know me best. What am I?

I am a sea of grass, vast and wide, Where wind whispers secrets, secrets I hide. Few trees dare to stand, where the bison once cried.

Many starved looking for me. I’m an Irish delicacy.

Inside a desert so large, are those plants and surface water that I see? And it's not a mirage? Here I thought my eyes are playing tricks on me!