THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 20, 1994 TAG: 9411170212
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 06 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Ronald L. Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 75 lines
If anyone ever asks me to help her find the real America, I'd send her to a high school football game in a small town.
Any small town, in any state, in any part of the country.
There is no better way to find out what makes most of us tick than to spend three hours under a moonlit sky on a Friday night watching teenagers struggling to become men on the playing field.
But the football players aren't the only youngsters learning about teamwork and challenges and pain and triumph.
The band relies on practice and teamwork for a polished performance even more that the footballers. So do the cheerleaders, doing flips and flops once seen only in a circus, risking their joints and bones as much as any linebacker.
And the parents, who have nurtured their offspring for years, have to come to grips with the realization that their sons and daughters can do things on their own.
Old grads come back and recall their prowess in the olden days, the runs getting longer, the touchdowns more frequent, the tackles more fierce, the handsprings more daring with each passing year.
Some of the memories are etched more deeply in the mind than recent, more marvelous achievements.
It's been more than 40 years since my last high school football game, and a lot of interesting things have happened to me since then. But I can still bore you to death with detailed recollections of every game in my senior year.
And I found, in going to Manteo High School's last game of the season, that things haven't changed much on Friday nights in small towns.
It's still THE place to be come kickoff time, no matter how sophisticated and urban you are during the rest of the week.
Men come in three-piece suits under parkas, in T-shirts to show they can stand the cold, in athletic sweat suits emblazoned with Manteo slogans.
Women come dressed to the nines or dressed for warmth, the contrasts startling as they huddle shoulder-to-shoulder under blankets in the bleachers.
Grandmas and grandpas and toddlers swarm through the gates long before gametime, shivering in the harsh November winds as they seek refuge in the stands.
The players race onto the field, energy bursting out everywhere, and throw themselves into one big pile.
The band, snappy, apparently unbothered by the wind and the cold, prances proudly onto the field, as important a part of the Friday night ritual as the team. The crowd stands patriotically, hands over hearts, for the national anthem, a high-pitched rendering but somehow just right under the lights and half moon.
Everyone leaps to his feet for the kickoff, Manteo fans drowning out the pitiful shouts from the sparse crowd of out-of-towners. Manteo drops behind, and the fans are stilled. But the Redskins score, and smiles light up the faces. The crowds' elation ebbs when once again Manteo drops behind. Then the hometown pulls back in front by a point, and the future looks rosy. But the visitors take charge in the last quarter, and put an end to Manteo's dreams of a state title.
Nobody rushes home. They linger while Coach Moncie ``Punk'' Daniels consoles his troops, and then they hug their bruised warriors, fierce and threatening on the field, but clearly still kids with their helmets off, tears staining their beardless cheeks.
The cheerleaders, as tired as the players, seem just as sad. The band disperses into the night. Parents go home. And the last senior, unwilling to believe it's all over, slowly leaves, helmet in one hand, his girlfriend's hand in the other.
That's Friday night football in a small town, a symbol of Americana that doesn't change. by CNB