Our grocery bill went up exponentially this summer, and it had nothing to do with inflation.
The food tab rose about the same time Jack returned from his two-week backpacking Boy Scout trip to Philmont, N.M., and began early-morning runs through the neighborhood getting in shape for football.
Football? It’s everywhere. From Oakville to Belleville to Wentzville, and everywhere in between. Even on North County’s Fee Fee Rd., which is where we hope to be by the 7 p.m. kickoff tonight – that is, if we can get away in time from a freshman game on Oakland Ave.
Tomorrow night begins The Season. Our season – the year football just might eat us out of house and home. Jack, our freshman at Jesuit prep school St. Louis University High, will be wearing a blue jersey for the Junior Billiken C-team, and their first game is at 4 p.m. in the SLUH football stadium.
Babes in pads, that’s what they’ll look like to their mothers. Big men on campus. That’s what they’ll look like in the mirror.
Then we drive 15 miles north to watch Matt, our senior, on SLUH’s varsity taking on Parkway North High School.
Turn on the lights. It’s Friday night.
Sunday is great for the NFL, and Saturday owns college campuses, but Friday belongs to our boys. High school football players are the boy next door, the kid who sat up in the chair with a whistle this summer at the neighborhood pool, and the young man who cuts your lawn.
High school football is pep bands and popcorn in a packed stadium of 5,000 screaming fans, 4,000 of whom are there because it’s what you do on a Friday night.
High school football is a three yards and a cloud of Nexturf. It’s a tipped pass, a sack and double reverse on one drive. It’s six points and don’t turn to talk to the person next to you or you might miss it.
High school football is two games, the one on the field and the one on the track, a mosh-pit of adolescents preening back-and-forth and having no idea what the score is.
High school football is the mom in the stands wearing a button-picture of her son, and the dad standing on the bleachers, living and dying on each play and having an opinion about it, too.
High school football is the girlfriend on the track knowing his mom is up in the stands and has no idea that 1) she exists, and 2) her son is going to be much happier to see the girlfriend after the game.
High school football is announcers in the press box, photographers on the field, and a coach with charisma.
High school football is the lump in your throat at the start of every game – that’s your’ boy out there! – and it’s the hole in your heart when the final whistle blows under an unfriendly scoreboard.
High school football is the Division I-prospect quarterback who appreciates the special teams player who lives for punts and kickoffs because that means he gets to hit someone.
High school football is the soccer player who got cut from varsity but has found new life kicking the hell out of the football and helping his team win the field position game.
High school football gives every kid out there a chance to be a hero, or a chance to learn from his mistakes. It’s a knock on the helmet from the coach, or a pat on the butt and a “go get ‘em” next time.
High school football is a new story every week, a reality show that unfolds in late August and doesn’t let up until the state championship game the weekend after Thanksgiving.
And every team that starts today thinks it can make it to November. Because it’s Friday night. Turn on the lights.
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