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Tuesday, Nov. 17, 2009

James Burns: You know the coaches and the players, but who is that guy?

The pack mentality applies to lions and tigers, Frank and Sammy, soda and now prep football fans.

Not the crazies who paint their face, pay the $6 cover and arrive early enough to sit near the front of the student section.

Not the moms and dads who sit in the nosebleeds, shivering like Jamaican bobsledders, just so they can see junior punt, pass and kick.

We're talking about a new-age group of fans. A pack who thirsts for "the real thing" -- to see a game just as the coaches and players do.

Next-level types.

They don't pay admission, because most are school employees or boosters or parents or simply sneaky.

They walk in through the gates with the team, or before it, sip from the same coolers and crowd the same sideline, making it tricky to navigate.

Whatever their classification, whatever their motivation, these days, there are more and more bodies down on the football field -- though roster sizes remain relatively unchanged.

Players and coaches huddle between the 30s just as they always have, mandated, of course, by the rules. But the wide open spaces in the red zones and end zones no longer exist.

Instead they've become extensions of the bleachers, reserved for this privileged prep football posse.

You've probably noticed this too, from way up there in the stands, this bloating of the sideline. It's become a party of sorts, overflowing with machismo, spit and sunflower seeds. And because your $6 ticket doesn't buy you what some get for free, you couldn't possibly identify with the sea of shoulder blades staring back at you.

So let me help.

Introducing the pack:

The Referee Degrader, a personal favorite. RD's verbal assault only becomes audible when the game is clearly out of his team's reach. He usually hangs out inside the 20s, with his arms folded across his chest and a gruff look on his face. "Hey, you finally got one right. ... First one all night!"

The Doctor/Team Physician, who can diagnose a blitz package as if it were the flu; as if it were part of his or her course load in med school. Their knowledge of the game and the team they root for, coupled with a hat-and-shirt ensemble, allow them to blend in seamlessly with the coaching staff. Oh, you thought they were coaches? See, seamless.

The Al Bundies. If you've strapped on a helmet and left your blood on the field -- or if you've scored four touchdowns in one game -- you get a lifetime pass to the sideline. It's written somewhere in the fine print on the back of your diploma. If you wear your letterman's jacket, coach might even let you speak to the team afterwards too.

The Dignitaries. The administrators, usually dressed in matching garb, wearing festive hats and texting updates to colleagues faster than the teenagers they police. "OMG, we just scored. TTYL. Hehehehe."

The Cheerleader. No, not the quintessential cheerleader with his or her pom-poms, a pleated uniform and halftime routine. We're talking about the adult, in jeans and a Tommy Bahama, whose booming voice can drown out the PA system. Virtually every team has at least one adult cheerleader, who somehow wiggles his way into team huddles and is the first to hold up four fingers at the start of the fourth quarter. "This is our time, boys!" Really?

Also goes by The Sideline Guy or Dude, Whose Dad is That?

Mr. Telephone Man. Some people wait until they get into the car to make all their phone calls. Others return all their messages from their office. Apparently, this guy waits until Friday night, under the lights at his favorite football game. Can you hear me now?

The Media Militia. It used to be that all coaches had to worry about was a local scribe toting a clipboard. Nowadays, there are TV crews, newspaper photographers, freelance photographers, yearbook photographers, videographers, competing newspapers, TV reporters, bloggers, Tweeters, fantasy freaks, columnists and the occasional radio man. Almost all carry bulky, expensive equipment. Almost all have deadlines. Almost all crave all-access rights and face time with the football team.

The Ball Boys. Remember when there used to be just one? Now they've got lads carrying footballs, flags, water, tape and tees. If it's got a handle or is light enough to hold, chances are high that it'll end up in the hands of an 8-year-old. Which leads me to this twisted analogy: If the head coach is Willy Wonka, the football program the Chocolate Factory, these little guys are, without a doubt, the Oompa Loompas. Anyone got green skin dye?

So there you have it.

A new pack of prep football fans -- and not a Dean-O or Ol' Blue Eyes in the bunch.

James Burns is sports editor of the Sun-Star. He can be reached at jburns@mercedsun-star.com.