Friday Night Blight

Week two of the high school football season has come and gone. Our local hometown heroes won their second straight versus a moderately talented Rowlett Eagle team 35-6. I’ll only make one football related comment before moving on to juvenile commentary, the Wildcats need a punter. Mr. DoEverything, Rex Burkhead, is a marvelous running back, did yeoman’s duty at QB last season, is surehanded fielding kick returns….but son! Them punts is not pretty. kimbrough.jpg

Tonight’s game was a homer, but not played in the newly renovated Clark Stadium as featured in last week’s update. The Cats were relegated to the recently constructed “sub-varsity” (apparently that means “no jumbotron”) facility over in Murphy, Tom Kimbrough Stadium. We were greeted just before entering the gates by the sight of two students sitting on the kerb surrounded by the Five-Oh. One dejectedly reading the back of his freshly written MIP (Minor in Possession) the other looking rather queasy. I overheard only a snippet of the conversation between Dano and the Queasmeister “…’re drunk….” or words to that affect, as if Q-man was unaware of his condition.

While the stadium is nice enough, it is configured to confuse students and parents who are accustomed to sitting in traditional areas of Clark Stadium. This is how Esposa and myself found ourselves sitting in the midst of a very rambunctuous group of underclassmen for tonight’s contest.

Two things stand out in my tortured memory. First, teenagers are freaking loud. At halftime we’re sitting there watching a very talented Rowlett Silver Rhythm drill team routine being performed to the music of their very talented, very large marching band. But I can’t tell you what the song was because I swear to the G*ds I could not hear one single note for all the racket. Squeals, screams, yelling. Even the simple act of greeting one another (as in “Hey, how’s it going) was at the top of their lungs. Holy Maria, Madre de Dios I know we’re outside but tune it back just a notch. Inside voices please.

And second, I’m no saint. My stepfather was a sailor. I have heard, and on very rare occasions used, foul language. (What’s so funny?) But even I blushed. I heard one kid use the F-word more times in a sentence than I thought was humanly possible. I tried it and couldn’t pull it off. He was talking to the guys sitting behind us and apparently had ridden to the game with Mr. MIP and the QueazeMan. Guess that would make me firkin’ mad too.


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