Friday Night Lights
I sleepily unlock my Buick and slide into my car, I cruise down route 38, quickly hop over Marne highway, and find myself driving on Rancocas Road. It is 11:30 at night, and snow begins to drift down from the clouds and onto the asphalt. I drive on this road until it ends in the middle of the woods, where cars are lined up all along the sides of the tiny street. I take a deep breath through my nose and let out a long sigh. I smell clean, the shower I took just 15 minutes beforehand left the faint smell of body wash on my chest. I step out of the car and walk up the driveway, my sweatpants swooshing between each step. I hate sweatpants, especially wearing them in public, but with these people it was okay. My hair is beginning to freeze slightly, and the snow has made a gorgeous thin layer, creating a white silhouette of trees and cars that surround the house. Each step I take sends pains through my body, my back aches and my knees are sore. My forearms are bruised and my knuckles are bleeding, but in a matter of moments I won’t be able to feel a thing. The night was frigid, and the dry air carried a light scent of cigars and bonfires. Most people don’t appreciate New Jersey weather in November, but I love it. I arrive at the front door. Outside it is quiet and still, but I know once I swing open the door that will all change.
As soon as I crack the door, cheers erupt, as if I was running for president, and a smile strikes my face as I greet everyone in the house. Everyone is still dressed in scarlet, white, and black. The Moms and sisters all give big healing hugs that slowly rejuvenate our torn up bodies. The Dads have cheerful proud gazes as we shake hands and embrace each other. I finally get to my own mother, who would say I had a great game whether I did or not, and give her a kiss. The house is warm, and holds me close. I have never felt more loved and cared for in my whole life. Of course after games we lost, small swirls of controversy and complaints may have been whispered, but for the most part both wins and losses were treated the same. Parents will still love, fans will still pack in for games, and our brothers will still have our backs. The house has a heart and a soul after football games, it has powers no other object can obtain. It is a very unique combination of peace and energetic passion that is truly one of a kind. A single story house, no big kitchen or no hulking flat screen TV. As a matter of fact I can see the entire place in only 30 seconds, but I don’t need any of those things to feel loved. The moms quickly make a big plate of different pastas and vegetables as I sit down. Then parents ask me about the game with an onslaught of questions. Specific plays, different calls, asking about different people, it was like a post game interview. I gladly answer all of the questions, and the pain in my ribs and head temporarily go away when we all laugh. I usually do not enjoy the limelight, but during football season I thrive in it. It forces me to rise to the occasion, it gives me a reason to keep pushing. I finish my meal, and I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room, where the players and close friends are waiting.
I shake hands with all of my teammates and give hugs to the girls before I sit down next to my girlfriend. She gives me a kiss and asks me how I feel. I never say I am hurt, but she already sees the massive welts on my wrists and she leaves to grab ice for them. She comes back and lays on my chest and the smell of her hair gives a soothing and healing feeling. The boys start watching the game film, which our coach somehow put up less than two hours after the game ends. Compared to the rush you feel going into every play, the game happens so much slower on film. We tell our battle stories as each play rolls by. Some of them are plays of heroism and legendary feats, some plays are of us getting embarrassed and lying defeated on the ground. Either way, we all laugh and can not get the smiles off of our faces. We are on our way to the state championship game, how could we not be excited? Dinner with our families, a good time with the guys, and a beautiful girl in my arms, I couldn’t dream of a better night.
The energy in the building is unreal. Everyone is happy, everyone is together. The girls slowly leave, and only after that do the players then brag about being hurt. We lift our shirts to show huge gashes and cuts and pull our sweatpant legs up to show the deepest of bruises, almost in a competitive sort of way. Everyone is exhausted, yet we can’t seem to shake this positive energy in the room. It is contagious, and we stay up until the crack of dawn. We talk about football for a long time, but that is only what makes us teammates.Most times, the conversations turn even deeper. We talk about our fears, our hopes, our dreams. We talk about our families, our relationships, our regrets. These are the moments that bond us as brothers.
Many of the guys sleep over at the house, mostly because they will fall asleep at the wheel if they tried to go home. They pack like sardines into the living room, and most of them end up sleeping on the floor. Our bodies still ache, and the pain is increased from the lack of sleep, but we do not really care. I usually drive home at this point, in an autopilot haze I find myself back on route 38. I sit at red lights waiting for no one, and I’m still haunted of the thought of not performing this ritual every friday night. The pains that were originally alleviated start to creep back into my body, and the legendary night’s healing powers slowly wear away, but the pain is the last thing on my mind.
It is only high school football, yet at the exact same time it so much more. It’s a celebration of a community, or towards the end of the season, of a family. It is the celebration of sacrificing 10 months of hard work every year for four years to improve yourself on the field. It is in commemoration of that precise moment, of that win, of that night. It is a toast to that single, definitive moment of when someone walks in the door. It does not matter who walks through that door, whether it be the captain of the team or a backup kicker, every single person who walks through that door is praised as a champion. It combines elements of both relaxation and merriment into a crescendo of pure joy. It is a time of celebration, it is a time of peace, and it is a time I crave for everyday since it has been gone.
