It was still there. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was still there. Sharon and I still feel drawn to the local Friday night high school football game.
This despite the fact we have had no children in the local schools for well over a decade. No kids in the color guard, dance line, football team, school play, pageants, nothing. The small but consistent group of other parents/friends we hung out with at all the games has long since disbanded and gone separate ways in pursuit of grand kids and other pastimes. Many years since we’ve had any significant connection of any kind to the local schools.
But yet the attraction won’t go away. Some sort of magnetic force that seems to compel us to attend at least one game per season. So on a recent Friday evening, we wiped the spider webs and blew the dust off our portable stadium seat backs, threw them in the trunk and set out for the game. It was something to do….something I felt we needed to do.
For some reason inexplicable, I think I began to figure out the compulsion. It began with our arrival at the entrance to the parking lot. Standing side by side at the gate was a white man and a black woman, both smiling warmly. The man handed me our parking ticket while the woman took my money and chirped “Thank you for supporting girls basketball.”
Actually, I had no idea I was supporting girls basketball. I was just looking for a place to park. But hey, whatever works. Glad to help.
We entered the stadium, and I made my pilgrimage to the concession stand. We always buy our dinner at the game. We are duty bound to support the band in this way. And there are fond memories of the time when it was us in that booth asking if you want regular Coke or diet. As I approached the window, I couldn’t help but notice a black man and a white woman side by side. The man took my order and money while the woman delivered my food almost as fast as I ordered it. Smiles and courtesy all around.
Sharon and I are not members of the booster club, so we can’t sit in the reserved full seated areas overlooking the middle of the field. So we headed toward the end zone, stopping about even with the 20 yard line. I reasoned if we were going to sit that far down, we’d better get high to get a good view of the game, so we trooped up the steps to about 4 rows from the top. I’m not sure the great view was worth the effort to get up there, considering I was panting like a dog that had just been on a long walk on a hot summer day, but we made it! Didn’t even spill the Coke (diet).
A couple we hadn’t seen in a long time wandered up and sat behind us (also panting). We got caught up on their lives. It didn’t take long, however, to realize we had sat too close to the aisle. Throughout the night there was a parade of little kids, oblivious to the game, who were playing around the railing. I noticed there was a little white girl explaining to a little black girl how to straddle the lower bar of the railing and transform it into a slide. They grabbed hold and slid down one behind the other, and having reached the bottom they giggled and hugged each other with unmitigated glee. This exercise would be repeated countless times.
On the field, the band assembled for the national anthem, black trumpet player alongside white bass drummer. Cheerleaders, dance team, color guard, white and black, standing at attention. Once the game began, I found myself taking note that our white quarterback was handing the ball off to our black running back who ran behind a white blocker, getting helped up after being tackled by a black teammate. Everybody cheering for everybody.
Wait a minute….. I might be on to something. Could this be it? Is this where the irresistible attraction is coming from?
I’ve come to suspect the Friday night game is an escape hatch. In a culture strongly divided by politics, race, and religion, it’s an event where none of those things seem to be able to separate people. We’re all one. The goal is common. We all want the same thing. Why is this so easily accomplished at a sports event, but yet so elusive in society?
After the game, we got in the car, pulled out and waited forever for someone to let us in line toward the exit. Finally, a good Samaritan stopped short, creating an opening. Under the glowing street lamp I could see the driver waving us in ahead of him. He was a black man.
By the way, our team won.
I think we all did.