Spending some Friday nights on the sidelines at high school football games this fall presents a vastly different perspective than my longtime perch in press boxes at the college level.

I’m still chuckling at John James Marshall’s hysterical Shreveport-Bossier Journal column last Friday providing insight on the high school press box experience. Even while I was sports information director for many years at Northwestern State, I made occasional visits up high for prep games at NSU and elsewhere which confirmed JJ’s take. Absolute truth!

Coaches at all levels scream from above. Plenty of them cuss. Some pound countertops, or windows. It is interesting to note we rarely see that wildness on televised games. As coaches reach higher levels, they seem to understand keeping their composure is vital in the heat of competition – and they know TV cameras are trained on them.

Way back in my days as a student at NSU, the Demons were visiting the Lumberjacks of Stephen F.  Austin, when A.L. Williams was head coach and the late, great Billy Laird was his offensive coordinator. Laird was in the coaches’ booth in the press box calling plays, on a headset to the sideline talking with receivers coach and proud Loyola grad Herbie Smith, a faithful Shreveport-Bossier Journal reader these days from his Grant Parish home.

There was a communications gaffe and the headsets stopped working. We knew this moments later, and so did the entire home side of Homer Bryce Stadium.

“Herbie, can you hear me?” said Laird, surely at first in a somewhat normal game-night tone of voice, then louder, and louder, and loudly enough so not only those of us a level below in the press box could hear, but so could the fans in the stands cascading gradually down to the far-away field.

“Herbie! Herbie! Can you hear me?” Laird was shouting, to no avail.

But Herbie finally did hear – not Laird, but the fans.

“Her-beeeee! Her-beeeeeee! Can you heeeeaaaaarrrreeee me!” they derisively chanted, almost musically.

Nothing like that has happened on the sidelines this season, that I’ve seen or heard, but much more has taken place.

I’ve seen little kids. Plenty of little kids. Adorable kids, who look at the players and coaches like they’re live action heroes.

I saw a cheerleader sponsor knitting. I’ve heard cheerleaders talking about anything but the football game. I’ve watched homecoming court members introduced, to varying degrees of excitement and awkwardness, some absolutely glowing in their moments in the spotlight, others eager to get out of the dress and into some jeans and good times with their pals. Some crestfallen when they weren’t announced as queen, others indifferent.

I’ve seen boys and girls working relentlessly as managers and trainers. Those kids never, ever get enough credit. I’ve seen student photographers and videographers hustling as hard as anyone else out there.

I’ve watched the “chicken eaters,” as one state high school coaching legend called the boys who didn’t play, probably were never going to play, but were out there for the excitement of Friday night lights and the joy of being part of a team. It’s a great experience for them if they never break a sweat, either because they’re too young, too small, or not good enough.

Some are intensely interested in what’s going on out on the field. Others, not so much. These are boys, not men, after all. Even some of the star players aren’t always as focused on the action when they’re not part of the action.

I’ve seen players watching their own big plays on iPads, with teammates huddled around congratulating them, oblivious to the action on the field.

I’ve heard fans. Most are great. But there are inevitably a few wastes of space, too full of themselves, who don’t hesitate to chide coaches and even high school kids when things haven’t gone as that side had hoped.

I’ve heard some great public address announcers, and a couple who weren’t ready for prime time. But overall, those stadium voices serve the audience well. At a couple of games, they also serve the sponsors exceedingly well – “the tee for kickoff is brought to you by Bob’s Boots, where you can always get your kicks” – and some don’t realize their voices are already amplified. But they all have fun.

And I’ve heard music. Most of it from the bands, always enthusiastic, sometimes not exactly pitch-perfect, but joyful.

I heard a blend at Calvary’s Jerry Barker Stadium Friday night – mostly an eclectic mix of canned music off a playlist (didn’t expect to hear Neil Diamond crooning Sweet Caroline, but can’t deny the appeal), and sound effects (those seem to be a more recent arrival on the prep football scene, and at only a handful of  stops), with some occasional tunes from the two small but spirited bands.

Can’t get enough of it. We’ve got one more Friday night. It may be a damp night at Calvary, but it will be a memorable evening with a state championship game berth at stake. Get there early. Seats will be scarce, for all the right reasons.

Contact Doug at sbjdoug@gmail.com