Our small town high school football team won district champions and headed off to play the division championship game. If they win that? State finals.
There's nothing that pulls a small town community together like high school sports (depending on where you live in the U.S., this may be football, basketball, or both). Yesterday, our historic main streets were lined with parents, family, friends, and shop owners as three busloads of players, cheerleaders, and band members received an official police escort out of town. Black and orange dominated, pom-poms blew in the wind, and players leaned out the windows, pumping their fists in presumptuous victory.
It literally brought tears to my eyes.
These are the best years of many of these kids' lives. For most, this will be the last of their football "careers." For some, the highlight of their lives. Many will grow older, grow larger, grow balder, but still hang on to the memories of their championship high school football year. It will be fodder over many a beer for years to come. The discussion at reunions. Memories at a future child's birthday party. Who blocked whom? Remember that touchdown? And, if they lose, what they would've done differently.
For perhaps a very select, elite few, this may be the stepping stone into their college football careers with hopes of one day playing in the NFL. High hopes for small town mentality. But, hey, it happens.
It's humbling.
It's reflective.
It's sentimental.
Or, it could just be that I'm all screwed up with pregnancy hormones.
You decide.
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