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Abilene Kugler

Jackie Burr Instructor

English 1010 Section 3

11 September 2018

The Homecoming Game

This is not meant to say that I’ve never been to a highschool football game. I have. The

difference is in the lives around me. The energy of maybe twelve teenage boys is enough to push

out all other hindrances in favor of sporadic behavior. I push through the initial blockade of

students to where the boys take their stances draping their bodies over the metal fence ledge in

response to the robotic cheerleaders who are pinching their voices forward enough, the back

bleachers are granted permission to join the repetitive predictable chants. The boys are taller and

bigger than they were just yesterday when they were hunching over their backpacks walking

sluggishly down the hallways. They now jump on their tip toes and throw themselves into the air

with the sort of excitement that mimics rage. Their clenched fists cause all of the muscles in their

forearm to enlarge as they punch the nothing above their heads. Faces around me contort and

stretch themselves into alarming mask-like structures, the half dried paint beginning to crack and

crease into their foreheads. Suddenly there is silence. The band takes over the field and begins

trumpeting out the national anthem. With their hands over their hearts and mouths sealed shut, I

can feel their energy of respect bidding it’s adieus for the night. The kickoff peaks and descends,

thousands of eyes arching in harmony, sending our front row standing-room-only section back

into frenzy. As a tackle goes down my company shoves each other back and forth as if they

aren’t rooting for the same team. Their hands grope and harass each other. They act crude for

sake of acting crude—no thought process behind it. There is only one girl within my arms reach
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at this point. She is small and is cowering behind the shoulder of her homecoming date. We

exchange glances of partial amusement and partial disgust at the boys’ unruly behavior. The

chaos scratches at our throats and thickens saliva as my restless vocal cords vibrate relentlessly.

The only cue telling me to do so is the crescendo of noise from the students yards to my left. The

most recent play is successful— I lack a view of the field but shouts provide a vantage point that

beats even the referees’. My mouth feels sticky yet dry. Without consulting the masses, many of

the boys evacuate in search of overpriced water bottles. My body leans in their direction but my

brain fires in the opposite way. Flickering memories of losing my group in hoards of students at

school dances warns me that I won’t find my way back. I stand still. With them gone the breeze

reaches my neck for the first time. Arms spread slightly, I turn in a circle just to prove to myself

that it is now possible. Play after play rolls by and the scoreboard tells me that American Fork

will clearly be taking the win tonight. The cheerleaders don’t lose spirit and their eyes twinkle

with irony as they continue to lead the crowd. The boys are still gone and I decide to make my

way towards another familiar face. Suck in, turn to the side, mutter unheard apologies. I unify

these steps as I force my way towards the north end of the student section. I meet up with the

new friend and he graciously opens his circular fourway conversation to make room for me. I

feel pitied but disregard the feeling and use him as my social safety net. The game continues its

downward spiral and I can sense the crowd needing more than school spirit to keep them

entertained. “Smooch! Smooch! Smooch! Smooch! Smooch!” I look over my shoulder and see

an SBO lean into a kiss (though it more closely resembles a head smack). Suddenly I’m shuttled

towards the epicenter of the action in a whirlwind of screams. It feels like highschool. “Smooch!

Smooch! Smooch! Smooch! Smooch!” The mob is uproaring again but this time it has chosen

different nominees, and this time I am in on it. The chant may be heard from a mile away but
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when I am this close to it, it still feels like i am part of a secret. Somehow the situation has

become more high stakes than the outcome of the game on the field. The elected, conceding to

their begging audience, kiss and proceed to fall apart and onto the metal floor in laughter.

Panicked by the threat of being trampled, the two students choose from twenty-some hands

reached down towards them to regain their stature. Is the whole thing ridiculous? Yes. But the

smiles are contagious and provide energy for the rest of the painstakingly long second half. The

game is winding down. The clock runs out and I slowly edge my way down the stairs exiting the

bleachers and onto the field. I wade in the feeling of the fresh air. I seem to have separated from

anyone I know but my tired eyes don’t bother to do a double take on my surroundings. I turn

towards the South and anticipate the fireworks that are guaranteed to initiate homecoming

weekend with beauty. The rockets are paced out in a timely manner. The purple, red, and green

sparks fizzle delightedly in the air. The golden rockets keep me awake with their small yet

densely packed circumferences. These smallest embers plead for my attention the fiercest with

their terrible bang. Shrill notes pierce the air as explosives spiral into the sky signaling the finale.

Snap. Scream. Bang. Crackle. The only shots being fired in more rapid succession are those

coming from the audiences cameras. Before the pyrotechnic makes their disappearance they light

up a massive red ‘H’ with a wave of flames. Enthralled in the magic of the moment, I even forget

the outcome of the game.

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