I arrived just as the game started, the oversized inflatable helmet sitting and waiting for it's players to run through was barely visible to me through the chainlink fence. I could hardly make out the cheerleaders and children that formed a line at it's opening, waiting with pom-poms and school spirit to welcome one half of the 'Pride of the Red, White, and Blue." The fireworks popped loudly, and I jumped in line as I waited for my ticket. Glancing up, I could see various patterns of the colors aforementioned dancing across the sky in a brilliant display of light. A horn, annoyingly loud and completely unnecessary, followed about three minutes after. The other team had scored only seconds in. By this moment my ticket has been awkwardly paid for, thanks to my amazing ability at being inept at everything. As I walk in I notice two things:
First, to my left is a t-shirt stand. A way for the schol to raise money and overprice more than just the cafeteria food.
Second, directly in front of me is a Polio Awareness booth. I do not go to it, but the thought of doing so lingers.
I find the seat near my family and sit, taking in the strange fog that has covered the stadium. I do not know if it is from the fireworks or the grill, but it smells like neither. Walking the track around the field are students that I recognize from my grade and a group of younger-looking girls who are making their own cheers. They either do not actually go to the school, or they are freshman. I focus my attention to the field, although I have no particular interest in football. I came for the band.
It is the first quarter and we are losing, but it doesn't come to a surprise, we are facing a team ranked in the top ten in the state.
I open and close my journal for what feels like an eternity, pondering what I could possibly bring myself to write among the commotion. Nothing of value, I decide, but certainly something to help kill the time.
I am distracted from opening my journal again as a woman reclaims her seat diagonally left to me and begins eating nachos with cheese that looks fake. Perhaps it is the ambiance of the filled stadium and the football game that forces my mouth to water, regardless of the fact I already ate.
The next thing I notice is the deep rumble of laughter. I look to the bottom of the bleachers and see a boy slung over the shoulder of another one. I recognize them from the grade above me and can't help but smile as the one holding the other begins to run and display an epic form of American Bromance.
I decide, now, that football games are not that bad.
Especially not a home game.