We cheer, loud, as the boys break through the butcher’s paper. We’ve painted our faces blue and yellow and our class rings glint in the stadium light. There’s nothing individual, not here, not tonight. We’re all out on that field with the boys, and we’re all responsible if they win or lose. This is it for these boys, and they know it. We all know it. Only a few of them will play football in college; and we’re all never more acutely aware of that fact than tonight. If they’re good enough, if any coach sees them as an underdog story they’ll be lucky. But some of them will work at the gas station
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