I will never forget this day. It was a Friday night in October of 1972. I was 10 years old. My Dad got home from work at 5:30 like clockwork. He walked into the house, past me, my sisters, 8 and 6, and my brother, 3. He headed straight to the kitchen sink and oven area, where Mom was preparing dinner. He kissed her twice and asked "how was your day?" Mom would answer with a recap of the good, the bad and the ugly; which sometimes would end up with a bit of a whoopin’ on me for my misbehavior during the day. I usually knew those days because it had been preceded with "you wait ‘til your father gets home and I tell him what you did." The worst offenses had to do with disrespecting Mom. Dad never tolerated that, even when mom was dead wrong. He always had her back, a lesson I live by today in my own marriage and fatherhood.
This particular Friday was special, because Dad was going to take me to see my first high school football game at Central Bucks West, under the lights at War Memorial field in suburban Philadelphia. I had a Pop Warner football game myself the next day, playing on the 75 pound team for the Warminster pioneers, but our game wasn’t until 1 pm against the Southampton Knights. So I could stay up and go with Dad. It was going to be a memorable night.
I was excited, as we drove through down town Doylestown. I could see the stadium lights over all the buildings as we approached. We parked on a side street and walked toward the school, then around back to the football stadium. As soon as we got out of the car, I could hear the marching band playing and immediately something inside me came alive. And it only grew stronger as we approached the gate to buy our tickets and enter the stadium. The energy was something I had never felt before. We walked around the track toward the bleachers, but as we neared the goal posts, a man stopped to part the crowd, and the band marched onto the field, in unison, batons twirling, sparkling outfits, large hats, all followed by the drum core… pounding out the beat everyone was moving to. It was exhilarating! Then came the football players themselves; CB West was a perennial Pennsylvania powerhouse, led by Hall of Fame coach Mike Pettine; each player sporting a polished yellow helmet with a single black stripe; white jerseys tucked in with pride, tight yellow britches, high white socks and spit shined all black cleats. It was magical, these gladiators were like gods from my 10 year old perspective. The whole team jogged past me, most with black shoe polish brushed high on their cheekbone for eye black. I thought it was war paint of some kind. The players all shared an identical serious facial expression, as if going into a battle to save the entire world. That moment was the birth of a dream for me to someday do what they did and be where they were.
That was my first time. And last weekend, 43 years later, it all happened again, as I went to opening weekend of high school football her in North Carolina. I got chills, again, watching the band enter the field, and then the teams charging behind them. And something came alive in me, just like it did all those years ago.
I was at the local high school game to see a new quarterback pupil that Coach Steve Wilson (The QB Mentor) had been working with; a ninth grader with great potential. Despite his team losing, the young man passed his first test of playing with composure and taking varsity hits as a quarterback and I believe he has great career ahead of him. Coach Wilson started working with my son Shawn as a young high school quarterback and helped him earn a football scholarship to Vanderbilt University, and coach thinks this young man has similar potential.
As I got into bed later that night, my wife asked me "how was the game?" I told her how many memories and sensations a high school football game brings back to me, and she said, “It is amazing that even though you don’t have anybody playing and you are not coaching, you still enjoy it just as much as ever. Why do you think that is?”
I had to think about my answer for a moment. Then I realized, because it’s Friday Night Lights. It’s a glorious American tradition where every fall Friday night, over 1,000,000 high school players suit up in shoulder pads and helmets, don uniforms in their school colors, and follow the band onto a field which is the same size everywhere, 120 yards long and 53 yards wide; to play tackle football, in front of their parents, siblings, girlfriends, families and friends.
It is a sport that garners the most participation of high school student athletes and usually draws the largest crowds of spectators. The color and pageantry are unmatched anywhere else in high school competition. The cheerleaders and the band have full parental support in the stands along with the boys on the field. In towns across America, it is an event not to be missed! Schools buzz all week as students inquire "are you going to the game?" or "see you there!"
The beauty at this level is that it is often a great equalizer of sorts, as young men put aside socioeconomic status, color, race and religion and strap on head gear and become brothers on a team engaged in a public, hard, physical battle for 3 hours in a way that is not duplicated in any other sport.
The lessons of pride, perseverance, sportsmanship, hard work, overcoming challenges both mentally and physically are earned on the high school gridiron. This isn’t an extra-curricular activity. No, this is core curriculum for life, where players learn hard lessons, make memories and forge personality traits that will carry them for the rest of their lives. I can assure you that all of my teammates, to this day, rank our high school football experience as one of the most significant building blocks of our entire lives.
I love football season. I am glad it’s here again, finally, for Sundays and the NFL, for Saturdays and college ball, but mostly for High School Friday nights under the lights, the purest football played for the purest reasons anytime anywhere.
Amen and AMEN.