Member-only story
How I Loved Football, Then Hated It, and Now I’m Coming Back
Remembering Not To Let Anyone Steal My Joy
I grew up in a small town in Northwestern Pennsylvania where nothing was truer than football. If you’ve ever watched the TV show “Friday Night Lights,” you’ve seen a glimpse of what my hometown was, and still is. Two glass factories kept our economy chugging along, and strong young men, destined for farm or factory post-graduation made up the Port Allegany Gator team.
In the late 1980s, sports were a dynasty of success at my high school. Starting off each school year, the Gator football team plowed past team after team, often with massive scores and total shut-outs with a mighty defense AND offense the likes of which hadn’t been seen in our neck of the woods in years. One kid in particular, Paul Robbins, was such a standout that thirty years later, there’s a memorial video for him not of his life in general, but of his incredible high school football career.
I obviously wasn’t on the team. I had a key position as a varsity cheerleader. This was back in the day when, as a rural cheer squad, we didn’t compete in our own right, we were there to support the guys. That was our whole job. So I knew the plays, I knew the players, I knew when to shout, “First and Ten, Do it Again!” and when to start cheering, “Great-Big-D! Deeee-Fense!”
