Don’ing Pigskins

I honestly can’t recall if I ever attended a high school football game back when I was actually in high school. I mean, I must have – even though my first three years were spent in Lexington, Mass., at that time home of a number of college professors and Raytheon employees whose offspring, at least the ones I knew, didn’t much care about quarterbacks and wide receivers. But I don’t have any memories at all of ever showing up at the football stadium. To be fair, it was a number of years ago.

I do still have a very vivid memory of my first year at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. It’s the smallest school by far in the Big 10, which in those days actually was comprised of 10 universities; all huge public institutions save for Northwestern, which was only twice as big as Lexington High. (I had no idea about fraternities back then either, but that’s a whole different story.) 

I remember Northwestern because – understandably given the competition – we were by far the worst football team in the conference, if not quite the country. We played Ohio State, Michigan and (I believe) Notre Dame that fall when each was ranked No. 1. Somehow we scored the first points of a game against one of them (not sure which) on an interception returned for a touchdown; what’s commonly known as a Pick-six nowadays. The entire student section stood as one with fists in the air and started chanting, facetiously, “Rose Bowl! Rose Bowl!” 

Of course, Northwestern never scored again that game and lost by 60 points or more. It was a blast.

The point of all this is that until I moved to Santa Barbara’s Eastside a couple of years ago after decades on the other side of town, I never gave high school football much thought. But one late August night I kept hearing the roar of a crowd early on a Friday evening, and when I looked out my bay window, I saw all the lights on at the high school stadium less than two blocks away. Naturally, I eventually sauntered over, partly because it was too loud to do anything else. 

What I saw stunned me. 

The stadium was packed, at least on the home side of the field at the recently refurbished stadium, completed thanks in part to donations of famous alumni that included, among many others, Charles Schwab. But not just with students, but rather a whole lot of townsfolk of multiple generations. 

That’s the part that shocked me. I had no idea that the old movie and TV series Friday Night Lights (or, for that matter, The Last Picture Show, or at least that movie’s football element)could have been about Santa Barbara rather than Texas. I had no concept that people who’d attended SBHS and played on the football team more than half a century ago still faithfully showed up every home game to support the Dons – decades after their own glory days. I had not a clue that they cared so much about Santa Barbara High, such that when I asked a SBHS merch-sporting octogenarian couple why they come to the games, they said because all of their kids and grandkids are also alumni or current students. When I made the mistake of wondering aloud what would happen if one of them decided to attend San Marcos or Dos Pueblos instead, the couple shot me a look that almost had me freeze in my tracks. “Never!” they snapped. 

Over the several games I’ve attended since then, I became –  much to my surprise – a true fan. Though in fairness, anyone who saw Kai Mault adapt from wide receiver to emergency quarterback halfway through the 2024 season couldn’t fail to be impressed. 

I find myself joining in chants of “De-Fense!” and more when the cheerleaders urge us on. I heartily tap my feet to the band – usually seated in a brassy troupe right below where I watch from the top of the entrance off Olive Street. I feel lifted up by the enthusiasm of the Donettes dance team, bop my head to the snippets of funk played by the DJ located on the track, and secretly smile at the boys and girls flirting – one of the few times they’re not buried in their phones – all around me. 

As I’ve become a more regular attendee, I’ve started to recognize some of the faces, young and old, including those who just graduated, friends of the families, relatives and others. I honestly don’t know if there are many others in the crowded stands who meet my description – those who have no connection to Santa Barbara High School whatsoever, have never played football in any organized league (and definitely never tackle), don’t have kids, and pretty much haven’t even seen a football game on TV outside of the Super Bowl in years. That is, people who – like me – were previous strangers to the warm ritual of the high school football game. But I find that not only is it cool to be thought of as part of the family now, it’s also a great deal of fun. 

The Big Game, as it’s known around these parts, is on September 19, when SBHS hosts the annual game against archrival San Marcos. I’m not sure I’ll be moseying over there, but if I’m home, I’ll surely know it’s happening. And don’t try to visit me that night. There won’t be any street parking for many blocks. 

Go Dons! (With apologies to fans of the other local high schools.)