By Timothy Cho
Editor-in-Chief
Six o’clock on a Saturday evening, grey skies and a light rain falling. I arrive to the admission booth only for the football team to also arrive, cutting me off from purchasing a ticket; two-by-two, red-clad football players march their way from Gym 1 to the field. Coach Steve Wilmot brings up the rear, looking forward with a taut face and unwavering gaze.
After the football team passes by, and the roaring applause from bystanders subsides, I finally buy a ticket to enter the game. As I pass through the gates, a senior sprints by, obviously a part of the symbolic R—— Nation, with his torso painted with a large “S.”
“S” joins the front row of the student section, which looks unusually empty tonight. Perhaps it is the rain, or the missing marching band, but Neshaminy lacks its normal support.
I usually don’t attend events like these, but I can see why many of my fellow seniors go out of their way to come to every game. Faux feather caps float above the sea of red and blue; students’ pre-game chatter; hot chocolate and hot pretzels engulf the stands in a comforting aroma. Yet, the students’ eyes seem to be gazed upon one another, and not on the game about to start.
The only ones with obvious, apparent attention on the game is the front two rows of students, those dedicated to watching their best friends on the field below, the “super” seniors, the backbone of this student section.
Both Neshaminy and Pennridge teams have finished their warm-ups, and prepare the begin the game. Almost immediately after both teams took their positions, the seniors below me, on the sixth row, begin to chant, although I cannot hear over the surrounding conversations, discussing important topics, like whether or not Zach really did text Shannon about what Emily is doing.
“BILLY RITCHIE” suddenly rings from the senior rows, a chant I doubt the visitor stands couldn’t hear. Neshaminy pushed against Pennridge, and I see why we began chanting; we slowly approached the end zone, inching towards the opposite side of the field.
While the chant brought my attention back to the game, it was again lost when I spotted a poncho-wearing student. Why a poncho when it was barely drizzling? It’d make more sense to wear a blanket, surely, with decreasing temperatures and an increasingly fiercer wind.
More people have arrived, and only more enter the stadium. A throng of students approach the student section, and I finally notice the adults supervising. I spot a lone teacher, standing on the steps next to the front row of seniors, keeping a firm gaze focused on the students, and an administrator on the track, intently staring down the seniors. Shifting my gaze to the left, I find James Maloney, Robert McGee and Lisa Pennington watching the game. Only two adults watching over the entire student section? Is this normal? Or is it a weaker-than-normal grip over the smaller-than-usual student section? Either way, I’m disappointed this is the apparent security over us.
The first quarter just ended, but I had to look over at the scoreboard to realize that; none of the students has made any verbal notice of the 0-0 score by the end of the first 15 minutes. I move down onto the fifth row, after the seniors prompted fellow students to gather, to give more space to the latecomers and to give the student section a more unified appearance and voice.
Suddenly, a fumble, and Pennridge finds themselves in possession of the football—”WE SUCK, WE SUCK” roars the students. Even though it’s self-insulting, I, too, laugh. Oddly, I felt one with the students; just one face among a huddled-together throng of students, I understand why people love these games—it’s a social event, a place to gather with friends, drink hot chocolate and take selfies. What more can a high school student ask for?
My question, a few minutes later, was answered: flying Kit-Kats. One of the seniors came to the game prepared with Kit-Kat bars, and not the cheap ones that come in a package of two, but the genuine ones kids pray for on Halloween; the glorious, heaven-sent packs of four thrown into the stands, met with ferocious competition to snatch the precious chocolate.
When did so many students come into the stands? Why are there more ponchos when there’s even less rain falling? Why are the seniors singing Bruce Channel’s, Hey Baby? Where did the flying Kit-Kats go? Why am I still chewing on the same piece of gum since I entered the stadium?
Amidst these questions, I can’t help but admire the view from the fifth row: a light drizzle over a sea of red and blue, familiar faces lit with smiles and laughter, comforting aroma of hot chocolate, perhaps this is what I’ve been missing on my Friday nights.
Halftime approaches, but our spirit seemingly has only been reinvigorated as the dark of night cloaks Heartbreak Ridge and the stadium lights illuminate the field in a brilliant penumbra of white light. The cheers are louder and chants more frequent; the student section seems to be more focused on itself than the actual game, but no one is complaining.
Halftime marks the scoreboard, 0-3, with Pennridge in the lead. Both football teams exit the field, but groups of students are already leaving the stands and heading to the snack shop to refuel their hot chocolate and pretzel supply while find new people to talk to and take pictures with. R—— Nation disbands, some staying on the stands, some leaving for a break. I replace the gum in my mouth, sit down and give my feet a rest. Should’ve brought sneakers.
15 minutes later, most of the students have returned to the stands. Ponchos have been replaced with gloves and scarves. Smart.
With seniors below me, freshmen behind me, with sophomores and juniors filling in wherever they can friend friends, this student section seems to represent Neshaminy as a whole—a conglomerate of students from diverse backgrounds somehow able to mix together, united in a mural of red and blue.
Two seniors run back, “S” and “K” painted on their torso, with a little bit of their paint dripping, likely from the combined rain and sweat.
As if on cue, Pennridge returns to the field, greeted by our overlapping “BOOS” and “YOU SUCK.” Neshaminy follows, greeted by intense cheering, clapping and clamor.
The atmosphere has not diminished in spirit, but its attention has shifted back to socializing with other students, until the front rows of students begin cheering as William Dogba races towards the end zone, football in hand, and brings Neshaminy into the lead, 4 minutes into the third quarter. The one point conversion kick is a success, and the student section erupts into an even-louder uproar.
“I BELIEVE THAT WE WILL WIN” pierces the clamor, and the entire student section seemingly joins in, both verbally and physically; the chant grows louder and louder, while the students regroup towards the center of the stands, bringing us even closer to one another.
However, behind me I hear a peculiar disturbance, one that sounds unrelated to football. Daring to turn my head and break my focus on what lies ahead of me, I see two students roughhousing, pushing and shoving each other, while boisterously jeering.
I look back at the adults supervising the students. I see their eyes’ gaze turn to the fight behind me, but they take no action, show no reaction. How disappointing, I expected some kind of consequence for such behavior at a public event. Given the popularity of football games, I had hoped to see greater security.
Apparently, while I mused over administration’s role in football games, Pennridge scored another touchdown, and suddenly Neshaminy was losing once again, 7-10. I didn’t hear any anti-Pennridge chants or insults, nor did I see many students focused on the game.
The wind begins to pick up, but luckily I thought to wear layered clothing; unfortunately, many students did not think the same. I spot two students huddling together under a cerulean blanket. The third quarter passes quietly, students talking to one another with eager smiles and laughter, while I see McGee’s and Maloney’s stern faces watching the game.
The third quarter passes into the forth; Neshaminy’s football team pushes to overcome the score deficit of three without the aid of a cheering student section. Both teams repel each other’s offense lines, and at this rate, Pennridge will return home with a victory on their shoulders.
Hot chocolate is nowhere to be seen, but phones have appeared in the hands of many students. Faces turn away from the game and downward, into the bright screens of their phones as they shift their focus elsewhere.
Pennridge scores another touchdown and conversion, 7-17. With six minutes left in the final quarter, hope seems lost for Neshaminy, and already I can see students beginning to leave, saying their goodbyes and farewells to the friends that came out.
With a heavier rainfall and stronger winds, the football team began to show sings of low morale while the students completely lost the little attention that remained on the game; few faces continued to watch the game, turning towards other students and downwards at phones, wondering what time it is, or who posted what picture.
Just as students slowly filled the stands at the beginning of the game, they departed just as slowly—at first, just a few handfuls of people, but as time progresses, an increasing stream of people leave, and by the final minute, most of the students have already left.
The game ends in silence, as disappointment fills the hearts of Neshaminy’s football players, while most students exit the stadium with smiles and cheery demeanors after a night of fun socializing and merriment.
Just another Neshaminy football game.
