The end of Friday was followed by a restless night of sleep. After all, I had been looking forward to Saturday all week.
It wasn’t until I walked into the kitchen that I looked out the window to see the biggest snow storm of the year. This was going to be just the beginning of my journey that day.
I put on three layers of clothing, shoveled my car out of the driveway, and headed over to the school with my best friend. We were riding the fan bus, donated by the football booster club, that day. Our fans filled up two buses, the marching band filled another four. Alumni filled the caboose — one final bus.
As our caravan of buses made the trek to Hershey, my friends and I discussed the game we were about to witness. The school most similar to LaSalle College High School that State High had ever faced was Bishop McDevitt on Oct. 30. The 28-7 loss was the first I had seen by State High at Memorial Field.
Let’s just say we had that nasty feeling in the pit of our stomachs as we trudged through the snow to Hershey Park stadium. But the common theme that I saw among everyone at school and on the bus was that we believed in the Little Lions. The odds were against us, but we were forever faithful.
Our school was on a school spirit high that Saturday. The day before, we had what I thought to be the best pep rally I had ever witnessed in my four years at State High.
We started off the festivities with a “snake dance,” in which the entire marching band went through the school playing our fight songs. As I stood on the steps waiting for all four buses of them to go by, I knew this entire weekend was going to be different.
The students followed the band into the gym, where our official pep rally began.
We listened to a speech from the athletic director about State High’s last championship team in 1973.
We laughed as senior captain Vinh Vuong boldly stated towards the silent freshman and sophomores, “This side stinks.”
We screamed our lungs out for legendary teacher Joseph Boris, who declared that we would be “exploring the goal line,” then, to the horror of the principal, asked the students to come down on the floor with him. Of course, we had no other choice but to obey. As I ran down to the gym floor and jumped around with the senior class, not even really knowing why, all I could think about was how great this was. We were finally coming together for a team that I had grown to love since the beginning of the school year.
After begging the ticket taker at Hershey Park stadium for my ticket stub (For some reason he found it strange that I wanted to keep it), my friends and I sped down to our student section.
I just couldn’t believe how many people were there. For most games this year (I attended every home game during the regular season and all but one of playoff game), I was able to be in the first two rows of stands. In this game, I was a good five rows back, barely in the middle. (Fortunately, this did not effect my chances of getting on TV. You can subtract my five seconds on PCN from my 15 minutes of fame)
As soon as the game started, all of us were screaming our heads off. Our obnoxiously loud yelling during the Little Lion’s defensive drives and our chants towards the LaSalle fans were what I was waiting for all season. This game would be different.
Unfortunately, the difference was on the field. Even more so than the Bishop McDevitt game, the Little Lions just looked bad.There is no use in hiding the truth.
We didn’t know if the weather was a factor; it was painful to just move around in the stands, let alone run on the snow-covered field. It might have been nerves, this was the farthest State High had gotten in the PIAA championships ever.
Either way, something wasn’t right. Our joyous screaming turned into confused cries. This was not the kind of play we had seen all year. Missed tackles, field goals, and runs that just went nowhere. It wasn’t what we had seen all year, we knew the Little Lions were better than this. As a fan, it was frustrating to not be able to do anything but scream and cheer, and when that didn’t work, I was completely helpless.
The happiness returned when Alex Kenney returned a kickoff for a touchdown. We celebrated as much as we could standing on the slippery benches. The hot chocolate that I bought five minutes before the score spilled all over my hand as I celebrated what turned out to be our only score in the game.
Even though seeing Kenney, a Penn State recruit, run across the field was nothing new, we thought maybe this would be the beginning of our cinematic comeback. It wasn’t.
When the game clock finally ticked down to zero, the first thing I wanted to do was run to the bus and escape from the cold. But there was one more thing I knew I had to do: cheer the team out of the stadium.
I had done it all year, and this loss wasn’t going to stop me. It was important to me, and some other fans, to make sure the team knew that we had appreciated everything they had done. I almost regret doing it, seeing the team as dejected as they were was really upsetting.
For the past three playoff games I had went to, I watched them walk back into the locker room looking so happy they could cry. After that game, seeing some of them actually cry was just heartbreaking and even made me tear up a bit.
I looked on the field and furiously watched La Salle celebrate in the snow. All I could think about was how that was supposed to be us, that was supposed to be our happy ending.
Now that the dust has settled, I can face the facts: they outplayed us. I could make up excuses about the weather, or the change in the start time, but I would be making things up. I can face the reality, but I can also be proud of our team regardless.
I brushed the inches of snow off my coat and headed back on the bus, feeling numb physically and mentally.
We headed back to State College, and the chaperones immediately turned off the lights and put on A Christmas Story in what seemed to be a riot-calming technique. It seemed to work; everyone watched the movie or slept, a stark contrast from the ride up, when we were full of energy and singing along to music.
I leaned against the cold window and thought about the football season that was now in the past. When my best friend woke up at the end of the bus ride, I said to her, “I’m glad we did this.” She agreed. Even though we had lost, we had an adventure.
Even though it wasn’t perfect, it was certainly a fun way to end our last football season as students. We were proud of our Little Lions. As for myself, I hope to remember the football team as one of the best parts of my senior year. I’m glad our team was able to play their way into the state championship, and extend the season all the way into late winter. The school came together as fans to cheer on the Little Lions to the bitter end.
For me, football season came to a close as I shoveled my car out of the school’s parking lot. It was the last time I would drive home from a State High game. The state championship was bittersweet, but I’m glad I got the chance to go, regardless of the outcome.
To all the members of the football team, especially the seniors: Thanks for the memories. The sting of the loss will last for a while, but all of the great experiences I’ve had at football games this year, especially the last one, will last forever.
