We had a fun evening last week. We took the night off to attend the local high school football game. I really don’t care much about watching sports but our alma mater, Michigan State University, was lending its Spartan Marching Band to the halftime show after a day of marching clinics offered to the area school bands.
We came early and walked alongside the bands on their march to the stadium. I was a member of the band one year while I attended MSU, and the long cadence they play while marching on the street will forever be etched into my brain. The band has movements and yells that are to be made at different places during the cadence and I had to suppress my urge to shout them out on the sidelines.
At the stadium, if you can call it that in a small town, there was no room left to sit on the home side so we wriggled into an open space on the visitor side of the bleachers. It was a nice night and apparently a good game. My husband enjoyed it. I enjoyed watching the people around me, chatting with a family acquaintance I recognized in the stands, and anticipating the halftime show.
As the sun began to set and the lights came on, we got a nice view of the stands on the home side. The press box makes a great viewing area for people with special clearance – maybe photographers, maybe coaches or newspaper reporters, I don’t know. Their silhouettes against the sunset was kind of cool. There is something about the excitement of a hometown game at night that brings back fond memories. The smell of the wet grass, kids playing under the watchful eye of their parents in and under the stands, cheerleaders doing their little routines out front, and the grunts and groans of the players crashing into each other on the field.