I wasn't on the high school football team, but one of my best friends was, and I escorted his girlfriend to away games from time to time. I had lots of school spirit and would cheer myself hoarse at the games. If it sounds as if I were an utter dweeb, that's because that's what I was.
Anyway, my junior year (1974) the football team wasn't so great and went into the last game of the season with a record of 4-4-1. They faced the prospect of an unprecedented losing record. Worst of all, their opponent was Baylor Prep, a prep school in Chattanooga whose seniors had never lost a game in four years. If there had been a bookmaker around, my money would have been on Baylor.
Those rich private school kids had a football stadium that some colleges would envy, and they fielded over 60 players compared to my school's 40 or so on the travelling squad. And they were fracking huge to boot.
To make a long story short, the Catamounts managed to defeat Baylor narrowly and salvage their season. The jubilation on our side was more than matched by the complete disappointment and despair that the Baylor seniors expressed. I saw monstrous linemen weep like babies. I was happy for my friend and for the couple of other football players who were not total douches. I was happy that some public school slobs from a mill town could beat the preppies on their own turf. I knew that those guys on the football team would never again have the upper hand in life when it came to their prepster counterparts. Not until the revolution, anyway.
I'm pretty sure my friend got laid that night.
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