5:55 AM: The opening guitar riff to the 1987 Def Leppard classic “Pour Some Sugar on Me” rings true over my alarm to start Friday, September 27. On most days, I need another few moments to drag myself out of the cocoon that’s my bed, but on football Fridays, I hop up with ease. Kickoff is almost fourteen hours away, but my adrenaline is already flowing. I come downstairs and pour myself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (the breakfast of champions) and a glass of milk. There’s an ACE meeting to get to and the walk from Brainerd is a little strenuous, so I’m out the door by 6:40.
7:05 AM: Mr. Ferrell enthusiastically welcomes students to Athletes Committed to Excellence, a trademark LHS club that supports athletes who choose to be alcohol-free. The Studio Theatre is about half full, mostly with freshmen who are mortified at the thought of a party. Mr. Ferrell’s words of wisdom begin to be drowned out when the boom of the bass drum starts to rumble from down the hallway. With every sharp beat the drummers bang, my heart rate starts to increase. I picture myself picking off a pass or making a huge hit (neither of which would happen, but that’s beside the point) instead of the messages of teamwork that flash from the projector in front of me.
7:30 AM: The first class starts. The disappointing realization sets in that I have actually have school in addition to football.
12:10 PM: I’ve made it to lunch. Many people might say their appetite goes away on game days, but I have no problem scarfing down my food in under 10 minutes. That’s not to say my stomach feels normal; butterflies have been fluttering around inside since precisely 5:55. Some of my teammates sit at the same table as me, and we all make predictions for the game. All of us are expecting at least a double-digit win, but all rationality gets ignored on Fridays. A few miles up Milwaukee Avenue, players at Warren are probably predicting the same thing for themselves.
2:50 PM: The final bell of the week rings to grant me freedom from the school day. The Homecoming assembly consumed the last hour of school and managed to take my mind off the game for a little while. Any time those drums would beat, however, my mind flashed forward to playing under the Friday night lights in just a couple hours.
3:40 PM: The team has met back in the cafeteria for a pregame meal. Lino’s Restaurant caters an impressive spread of pasta, meatballs, salad, and bread for the players to fuel up for the game. My stomach is churning at this point, so I only manage to choke down some pasta and a meatball. The football team as a whole may not be the most elegant bunch; some of my teammates gorge on the mid-afternoon meal like a pack of lions. Despite the feasting that occurs, there is a palpable anticipation in the room.
4:00 PM: Head Coach Jones, and coordinators Coach Budge (defense) and Davis (offense) lead the team into the Studio Theatre for a team meeting. We review any last-minute game plan strategies and the coaches give inspired speeches to rally the troops. They pound into our heads that tonight will be a physical game, and it will be up to us to rise to the challenge. Everyone is ready to do so, and our collective veins swell with our rushing blood. We’re dismissed after about a half hour, and I pop in my headphones and listen to my pre-game playlist, which ranges from Bon Jovi to Kendrick Lamar, to let my mind relax and keep my adrenaline flowing, even though I know that’s impossible.
6:00 PM: Near silence fills the locker room as all of the the players dress. I adjust my wrist tape, tighten my pants and pads, lace up my black Nikes and streak eyeblack across my cheekbones. Looking at all my teammates around me, I know all of them feel the same angst that I do.
6:20 PM: We begin to stretch out in right field of the baseball stadium as the sophomores wrap up their game. Any joking and laughing has subsided, and everyone is as focused as they can be. The faithful Libertyville student section screams encouragement at us as they file into the stadium. After we’re loosened up, we kneel and receive a short oratory from Pastor Bob Davis, the father of our own offensive coordinator. He talks to us about attitude, our theme of the week, and brings any positive mojo our way. Once he is done speaking, we line up in twos behind the drumline. They began to bang their instruments as the escort us to the stadium, and any anxiety I had turns into a raw desire to get on the field and hit someone.
7:30 PM: It’s game time. I stare down the line of white, blue, and yellow a few dozen yards across from me and get set in my position on the kick return team. I hear the crowd roaring to my left, but at the same time don’t hear them over the roaring going on between my ears. The Blue Devil kicker waits for the shrill referee’s whistle and boots the ball high into the twilight sky.
About 8:45 PM: By now my gauge of time has gotten a little hazy, but it’s around now that we trudge back into the Werchek building for halftime. The band and poms stand eager on the sidelines, but our team lacks the same gusto; we’re down 28-10. Our 7-0 lead early in the first quarter provided a positive outlook, but three unanswered touchdowns heading into the half take the wind out of our sails. In the locker room, my defensive teammates and I sip Gatorade out of paper cups and focus on Coach Budge for answers. He restores our confidence, and when the twenty minute break is over, we have the same enthusiasm that drove us about two hours before.
10:30 PM: The only orange and black that still dot the stands are from the shirts and coats of the players’ parents who are waiting to see them after the game. Most of the Wildcat supporters have long since packed up their gear and headed for the exits; they didn’t want to stay to see the final minutes of an eventual 59-10 defeat play out. Our team huddles in the middle of the field and Coach Jones solemnly rehashes the game. After that is done and the players clean up the remaining equipment, I sit in front of my locker and slip the gear off my body. It’s a more challenging task than one would think considering my body feels like one collective bruise. I know my teammates feel the same way as they hobble out the doors one by one. On nights of a win, I don’t notice the pain as much, and a Homecoming loss adds a little extra sting.
11:15 PM: I would say I hop in the shower at this point, but “hop” would make anyone who could see me drag my battered body into the bathroom laugh. All my adrenaline has worn off by now, and the only thing on my mind is a big piece of furniture laying in the middle of my bedroom.
12:00 AM: The second I hit my mattress, I’m ready to fall asleep, but not before my dad comes into my room to discuss the loss. He played cornerback in high school as well, so we have plenty to go over. He can see my eyelids start to sink, so he concludes and heads back to his room. Against my oblique’s objections, I reach across my body to flick off my lamp. This is the final action of my game day that started when some cheesy 80’s rock woke me up almost 18 hours ago. Even after a tough loss, I wouldn’t trade my privilege to play football for Libertyville for anything in the world.
