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The sophomore walks timidly to the varsity football locker room for the first time. As he steps in, the pungent smell of the room bombards his nose, accompanied by boisterous upperclassmen blaring music. The music is followed by the distant chattering of players in the background, but the room silences as their attention diverts to the new sophomore as he saunters to his locker. The novice feels the adrenaline rush through his blood and his cheeks grow hot as all the eyes in the room lay upon him, but he plays it cool. He’s startled by the unknown giants he encounters but looks forward to making connections with them and beginning a new chapter in his life.
A true high school football story is never welcoming. It does not appreciate you, accept you for being different, suggest models of genuine camaraderie, and does not give you the freedom of doing whatever you want without being judged or criticized. If a football story seems accepting, do not believe it. If at the end of a football story, you feel appreciated for being different, or if you feel that you fit in your environment, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude for the new kid whatsoever. There is no hope for the new kid. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true football story if you’re being ignored and unwanted.
It’s difficult to separate what happened from what seemed to happen. It was the first day of pre-season football and the new sophomore was ready to make a statement at his school. He didn’t want to be just another player on the team; he wants respect. As he confidently walks into the locker room for the first time, he receives looks of confusion and somewhat disapproval from his new teammates. It was as if he could telepathically read their baffled thoughts, ‘Who is this guy?’, ‘Why is he here? Does he even go to this school?’. He shrugs the looks of uncertainty off and heads towards the vacant lockers that are remotely distant from the other players’ lockers. That’s when the intrigued senior captain notices the alien face sitting all by himself. They both make piercing eye contact before the senior approaches him, masking a perplexed look. “I’m Bryan Johnson, starting captain”. The intimidated sophomore nods back, unable to produce words in his mouth. “So why are you here, are you trying to take my spot?”, remarks the senior in a mocking manner. The sophomore pauses for a few seconds and eyes him in an uneasy fashion, uncertain of how to respond to the peculiar question. “I never said I was, I’m just here to play football”, mutters the sophomore. “So why did you transfer here? You could’ve gone to some other school like Episcopal or St. John’s”. The sophomore’s mind went blank. He’s bewildered by the fact that it’s only his first day at Kinkaid and people seem to repulse his presence. As practice goes on, he’s unable to focus and continuously messes up during the drills. Missed tackles, dropped catches, and poor decisions are the products of his unfocused mind. The sophomore tries initiating conversations with his new teammates and making connections but receives bored faces and bland one-word responses instead. He hates the people. He hates Kinkaid. He hates football.
It’s hard to tell what happened next. I had transferred to Kinkaid from my old school to profit from the school’s thriving athletics and rigorous academics. I was now the new kid at a high school that had already established their friend groups from an early age, but I was unaware of that. I came from a public school that serves four thousand students in which everyone was socially included to a small private high school with just around five hundred students who formed small and exclusive cliques. My expectations were set high because I envied the star players on the team. As my first few days at Kinkaid passed, I noticed that their high value on the field was mirrored in their social lives, as they were always flooded with attention from the girls, got invited to all the parties and hangouts, and always seemed to fit in. As a sophomore, my goal was to be a star on the team, making big plays and lighting the field up every Friday, but it was just a misconception of who I was. The only reason I wanted to be the star was that I craved the acceptance and popularity of others. I didn’t hate the people, I didn’t hate Kinkaid, nor did I hate football. I hated the fact that I wasn’t accepted by anyone.
You can tell a true football story by the way it makes you constantly desperate for others’ approval. Every little thing you do is affected so others can like you, and you are willing to do anything to be friends with the popular kids. In a true football story, you’re ‘too busy’ caring what others think and constantly want to fit in. You’re too distracted and don’t realize that not much is gained from others’ approval. It doesn’t deliver actual value. Despite your strong feelings, it’s a false motive and an empty pursuit. You can tell a true football story by the way it strips you from yourself. You try so hard to be something that you aren’t.
A true high school football story never generalizes. Football is pressuring, but that’s not the half of it, because football is also escaping your comfort zone struggling and making new friends and being passionate about a sport and feeling like an immortal gladiator with your helmet on and facing reality and not being welcomed and being ignored daily and discovering yourself. Football is self-loathing and dreading your existence. Football is appreciating who you are and what you’ve accomplished as an individual. Football is finding yourself; football makes you lose your own identity. The truths are contradictory.
I’ll tell you an untrue football story. The new kid walks into the football locker room for the first time. He is greeted by all the players as they gather near him, welcoming him to Kinkaid and forming bonds with him. He is genuinely liked by the team and eventually invited to the team hangouts at the mall, daily lunches at the Buffalo Grill after practice, and the wild parties at John Michael’s house every Friday night. A thing may happen and be a total lie; another thing may not happen and be truer than the truth. It is only unfortunate to discover the reality that in a true football story, your presence is completely disregarded and similar to a ghost, invisible.
All you can do is tell a true football story one more time, patiently adding and subtracting, making up a few things to get at the real truth. Bryan Johnson doesn’t exist as he is just an imaginary, stereotypical, impudent jock on the football team. He never asked why I came to Kinkaid, nor did my new teammates mean to mug me as I sauntered through the locker room for the first time. And even if it did happen, it happened in the student center while playing ping pong after a long day of school. Twisting the story and adding false details exemplify how ignored and unaccepted I felt in the school environment. The little details in this story are made up, but it doesn’t imply that my strong feelings of dread and hate for not fitting in are false.
In the end, a true high school football story is never about football. It’s about acceptance.
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