The Magic of Single A Football

First appeared on December 2, 2014
in The Lebanon Reporter

Like a caravan crossing the desert, they come. They come in droves from the far-flung regions of Indiana. Emerging from the dark corners where signs of a once prosperous past, empty dime store windows and faded billboards, are left shivering in the breeze. They come from the small towns, where long ago an affordable automobile left walls to crumble and businesses to fail.

They come from the plains where the winter winds sweep hard across fallow fields. They come from the hinterlands, where islands of grain bins rise above an ocean of brown and beige. They come with Carhartts and cowbells, arriving wide-eyed and ready for their chance to embrace history.

They are corn pickers and cow milkers and hog growers, the lifeblood of a state. And while their crops are in, the harvest of a lifetime awaits inside the walls of Lucas Oil Stadium. Their chance for history. Their chance to take a Single A Title back home.

The purpose and effects of class basketball will forever be hotly contested and roundly debated. Football is another story. Football, with its machismo, violent collisions and trench warfare commands regulation. Such is necessary to prevent injury and ensure a level playing field exists. One magical byproduct of this regulation is Single A football.

A state championship game in Single A is a hearty stew chocked full of dreams and memories. It's the exhilaration of reaching the end of the tournament mixed with everything Mark Zuckerberg set out to capture with Facebook. Its two hours of striking a balance between cheering on your team and catching up with old friends and family. It’s learning the worst kid in your class has since fathered a stud linebacker or the quietest girl is mother hen to a trash talking tackle.

And so they sit, two sides facing each other across the cavernous house that Peyton built. Like tiny grains of sugar, they cling to the rim of a mostly empty cereal bowl while young men cut and block and hammer away at each other for four quarters. Kids who’ve fought and bled for years to reach this point. A short lifetime spent dreaming of this one moment. And there it is. The blue turf, the horseshoe, their school’s name on the jumbotron. Their coaches howl and point from the sidelines, the crowd surges as a sweep develops before their eyes.

In the end someone must win and someone must lose. Champions are revered for their exclusivity. It’s a life lesson, taught on the biggest stage most involved will ever see. And as the clock expires and the teams are left forming a line to shake hands, the Single A families pick up their belongings and move on. Back to the hinterlands. Back to the empty storefronts.

They go knowing full well this is most likely the only chance they’ll ever have. For once, the stars fell into perfect alignment. And from this course of events came their one shining moment. A moment to be relived over and over again between church pews and along the counter at the Whistle Stop.

A moment created by a group of young men who in time will share it with young sons of their own; wild-eyed boys who throw themselves fearlessly at life, buoyed by their newfound hopes and dreams. Dreams of a far away moment arriving and with it a chance to carry the hopes of an entire community upon their shoulders.

© 2014 Eric Walker Williams