Sunday column: Why I hated Friday nights

Here I am as a freshman (1996!), wearing my "Into the Woods" shirt with pride. There's Hollie next to me, checking lyrics to the song I was (evidently) singing along to. I believe we were at Marie's or Darleen's house. This was the brief pre-angst time of my high school experience.

Let's be honest — the culture of high school football isn't always what movies make it out to be.

As those Friday night lights flicker on at stadiums across America, it's only fair to acknowledge that not every high schooler will be on the field, cheering on the sidelines or even parked in the bleachers. And, it isn't always by choice, if you know what I mean.

I started out my high school experience with the naïve, fresh-faced optimism that defined my pre-high school years. Little did I know at that time how quickly I'd descend into "adolescent angst," as my mom so accurately described it.

As a freshman, I was anxious to join the Pep Squad. In order to try out for "real" spirit teams like the cheerleading squad or the dance line, all freshmen had to pay their dues on the Pep Squad for one year. We were a huge group of wanna-be cheerleaders and dancers who would faithfully don our polo shirts and blue shorts every Friday night and take our place in the stands to cheer on the team.

I stuck it out on the Pep Squad with my eyes on the prize of becoming a ShowStopper my sophomore year. The ShowStoppers were the dance line that dazzled spectators of all ages with their high kicks and coordinated switch leaps. Along with many of my friends, I was dying to be one.

Try-outs were held at the end of my freshman year. It was an intense week of practices spent learning the try-out dance capped by the final audition. It just so happened that the try-outs coincided with afternoon play practices I was committed to because of my role in the spring musical (it was a very small role, and my first and only stage debut).

The drama teacher was serious about this production, and she threatened to kick out of the cast anyone who missed even one practice. I tried explaining my situation to her – the conflict between the ShowStoppers try-out practices and play rehearsal – but she didn't budge.

"Emily, you're smart. You'll do fine," she assured me.

So as my friends practiced the try-out dance for hours after the organized practices, I was doing my thing on stage.

On ShowStoppers audition day, I was a ball of nerves. I pulled on my black leotard and stockings and wrapped the prescribed white ribbon around my waist in the girls locker room.

When it came time for my group to perform in front of the judges, I marched out with butterflies in my stomach and uneasy self-confidence. My drama teachers' reassurance ran through my mind on a loop, and I started to dance.

It was a disaster. Although I'd squeezed in as much dance practice as I could manage and worked on my splits every night, I choked at the try-out. I was mortified, but I convinced myself that I still had a shot at making the team.

Once all the groups had danced, we gathered on the gym bleachers to wait for the new ShowStoppers' names to be called.

The coach ran down the list, which included every single one of my friends who had tried out, without calling my name.

I was hit with a feeling I'd never experienced before – thrilled for my friends but desperately disappointed for myself. I cursed my drama teacher for making me miss ShowStoppers try-out practice. How could she do this to me?

I did my best to be happy for my friends, the new ShowStoppers. I even went to their first Friday night performance. I was doing just fine during the first half of the game, watching them running through their routine on the sidelines. But when halftime came and they strode out to the field, I simply couldn't watch. They probably still don't know that I closed my eyes through their entire dance because it was too painful. As they ran back to their spot on the bleachers, buzzing with excitement about their accomplishment, I stuck a smile on my face and congratulated them.

That happy-and-sad feeling stayed with me for a long time. Even once I got over the initial misery, I always felt a twinge of "I should be up there" when I saw the ShowStoppers perform.

Now, more than 10 years after my botched audition, I attend high school football games knowing there's much more happening in that stadium than just a football game. I can sense the heightened emotions, and I can sympathize.

I just want to tell those teenagers not to worry, that life goes on no matter what their role is on Friday night.