There is a moment that stands above all others at high school football games.
It has nothing to do with the final score. It also has nothing to do with statistics. And it will not be mentioned in the game account in the next morning’s paper.
But it ranks higher than everything else, in my humble opinion – above a spectacular halftime performance by the band, better than the silent prayer of a player’s mother, and greater than the razzle-dazzle of the game-winning touchdown. All of which are incredible things to see, by the way.
The Moment involves the heart, hopes and dreams of a little boy.
Do you see him? Do you know what he’s thinking?
He is there on the sidelines each and every Friday night, wearing the home jersey of the team he plays for. He cannot make a single tackle, and will not throw a single pass. But he will live, breathe and experience every minute of every quarter, thinking of the day when someday this game will be his.
In his eyes, this is not just a bunch of local teenagers on the field before him. Instead, it’s his group of heroes. His idols. The ones who are now doing what he hopes to one day do.
Pick a school nickname, any nickname. Panthers, Wildcats or Warriors, or anyone else. There, in the minds of those little guys who follow them, is the team’s heart. They are the number one fans.
I’m biased, for sure, for one very simple reason.
Years ago, I was that little boy. Many years ago, back when the world was different, my friends and I could walk to the varsity football games, following the lights and listening to the band along the way. We stood just behind the end zone, only a few feet from the game action, able to hear the pads popping and the players grunting.
We lived for these Springboro football games. We wanted to be those players. Instead of Dillon to Vicroy for a 60-yard touchdown, it would one day be Kirby to Wilburn. And another group of would-be wonders would be in the end zone watching us.
Those were the days.
Though the world is different now, the dreams of 12-year-old boys are still the same.
I mentioned all this last year when I was honored to give a pre-game speech to Springboro’s football team. I said so many people were watching them. Their classmates rooted for them. The adults re-lived past experiences through them. But, most importantly, the little guys in the stadium looked up to them.
Intuitively, some of the players weren’t so sure that was true. All that, just for them? But then, hours later, just as Springboro rushed off the field with a last-second victory, the players ran through a gate back to the locker.
Standing there was a group of little guys. All offering high-fives. All smiling as big as can be.
I suspect this will still be the case a generation from now.
I’ll be watching for this moment tomorrow night when I go to the game. I’ll enjoy every sight and sound, and every perspective on what is happening. But I’ll especially look for That Moment when I see the smile of a little guy as he lays eyes on Josh Little, Jacob Rigg or Conrad Lamb.
To him, a football uniform represents so much more than a team’s color and nickname.
To him, it represents community spirit. And team unity.
And his heart, hopes, and dreams.