The boys are back

The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers fill the sticky August night air, welcoming the masses to a 100-yard field high on a hill.

The first breath of air is thick — full of moisture after a summer shower soaked the freshly cut grass and faded unsullied chalk lines. Homemade blue and yellow, and purple and gold banners curl at the corners.

Sneakers clang up the metal bleachers in cadence with a distant drum line echoing to the mountains beyond.

Crackling announcements blare as the compound fills with excitement.

The click-clack of cleats on pavement ascends as reflective helmets become visible by the fence line. Whistles blow, music sounds and yells rumble from two columns of youth.

Diplomats greet each other for a moment of peace in the middle of the grounds to discuss the rules of the war that in only a moment will take place.

A coin tumbles through the air and the teenage armies take their sides, waiting for a final shrill from the gentlemen in black and white.

The alarm is sounded and organized chaos commences as plastic on plastic thuds through the cheers of the fanatics.

Football has begun.