Chaos: that is the best word to describe such an insane flurry of events. Unintelligible colors and sounds and emotions flashed excitedly in the air. Every aspect of this Friday night made it what it was; made it the unexplainable scene that it was.

This night was a fair one in September. The slight chill of the air from the damp grass, however, could not penetrate the human wall. The cool breezes had been overpowered by the heat of the moment, by the fiery mob of energized adolescent bodies. The cheers of rasped voices rang out through the crowd. Perhaps 1,000 of these mad patrons had gathered here under the lights. The site of them was like watching a herd of cattle in a pen, bucking and tossing about within the confined space. They were so alive in their youth and revived constantly by the adrenaline that thrashed within them. It was like a drug, the way they got high off of each other’s excitement. They were tense. They were violent. They were mad. They were animals.

Their energy was so thick in the air that a saw couldn’t cut into it, and nobody dared to threaten this crowd’s buzz. The horde had a mind of its own, and if disturbed, could break into a riot.

Amidst the brute chanting and raging motion, the sweet rejoicing music was finding its way, a mere attempt at subduing these threatening creatures of the night.

This part of the crowd, the source of the music, was an entity all its own. It stood nobly, 154 strong; like a tiny army of toy soldiers, much less menacing than the animals on the other side. The band’s song burst into the pitch dark above it, playfully challenging the rivals across the green valley, daring the atmosphere to defy it its right to be heard.

Two glistening, sweaty heads with French braided hair were in a constant bobbing motion at the foot of the masses, goading the whimsical sound from the instruments. The lovely young ladies looked like lighthearted choir singers as they swayed to the music.

And as they bobbed and swayed, all the sounds came at once. The whistles and cries and bellows and pounding were like a musical narration to what happened in the green valley below, but just mere decorative piano among the volume of the commotion around it.

Fists beat the air, bodies moshed, legs grew restless, teeth clenched jaws tightened, dry lips sucked from the round opening of bottled waters like leaches on human flesh, and devoured slices of greasy, sopping wet cheese on wet cardboard like wild dogs. This foul feast was only edible to those ravished from dashing around the aisles in packs.
Their feet stomped as they ascended and descended the mountain, causing the giant metal hill to quake.

For just a moment the beasts went quiet. In anticipation of what was about to happen, they stood silent and alert, then a rumble began as they pounded the ground and howled like wolves.

Somewhere in the luminous dome of the lights, there was an ovular, brown object, spiraling and spinning, slicing through the night like a bullet penetrating flesh. Suddenly, out of the white glare there emerged the fascination of the crowd. Through it went, in between two enormous yellow posts.

The enormous booming voice that came from the heavens above announced the good news to them, and they whistled through dry, cracking lips, singed by the heat. Some just cupped their hands around bellowing mouths, chanting and screeching as if they were possessed by a banshee.

What a victory… but the night was not over. Over was the raw excitement, and from now on the throng of bodies was dwindling, and those who lingered became sedated as the night plunged into the latest hours.

Now in the twilight, with only the stragglers present, everything was so distinct.
Distinct did not even begin to define the odor. The stench of sweat that clung to the already-dense air was enough to make one wretch. Although, no one quite seemed to care about the awful odors reeking from each body. Each smell was just slightly more-or-less pungent than the last. Even the ladies’ scent of flowery deodorizers infused with the rotting air.

The smell most likely came from the glistening faces that were haloed with a light mist of liquid from their young, acne-prone pores.

The heat of the earlier crowd had made for an ugly turnout. Girls’ hair began to frizz, leaving tiny, stringy curls protruding from their perfectly, plastered styles they had labored over for hours before. They knew only too well that, inevitably, their luscious locks would morph into mangled manes after 40 minutes of exposure to the dank air.

Some of these same scented, perfected, and big-headed girls had come clothed for a night hunting boys rather than cheering some on. Young men had come to impress, strutting in front of their feminine counter parts.

Unbelievably, there were some amongst the beauty queens and swaggering young men who actually came to enjoy a good match. The war paints applied under their eyes and their ensembles of dark blues and gold were a dead giveaway that they were not there for the same purpose as the other animals.

Their support was valued, but useless. There was no hope left for our heroes in the green valley below, but the remaining fans in the blue and gold remained to hear the final, distant buzz of the final second, watching their army’s defeat.

There I lamented the loss, in the middle of some aftermath of a pandemonium that was comparable to that of a horrific circus. Others were on a rampage, blaming poor calls and unfair advantages, and the weather, and just simply their hate for the victors.

Chaos: this is Friday night, this is defeat, this is war, this is being high school football fan.