For most of us being a teenager involves unsuccessfully trying to grow a mustache, unsuccessfully trying to fit in and unsuccessfully trying to score with chicks. For high school football players though ... it's the best time of their life.
Whether you love football or hate it, there is no denying that the atmosphere of a packed NFL stadium on game day is hard to beat. But if you don't live in a large city with a pro football team then what are you supposed to do?
Well, all across America small towns decide to root for their local high school football team instead, elevating pubescent boys to the status of professional sports stars in their community.
Now to most of us this is the equivalent of choosing watching two teenagers in Staind hoodies backyard wrestling in a parking lot instead of watching professional boxing, but apparently for a lot of people across America, it's a suitable alternative.
Forget Ali vs. Frazier... THIS is where it's at!
What with pep rallies, cheerleaders, homecomings and fundraisers, some high school football players actually believe that the attention they get at school will last into their adulthood. This is a problem.
Unfortunately being able to throw a ball or outrun a high school student won't help you much in the real world. When that realization kicks in there's only one thing to do... live vicariously through your children.
Thankfully for the hundreds of thousands of failed high school football players out there, they can look to the fruit of their loins to carry on their particularly depressing legacy (unless they have one of those useless 'daughter' things - in which case they'll just let the wife look after them)
"Now just get out there and do your best son... oh, and if you lose I'm killing the dog."
So what do we end up with? An endless cycle of douchebaggery that passes from father to son from generation to generation. Scientists have estimated that the energy of those broken dreams could power a rocket to the moon - at which point it would immediately deploy a beer cooler, lawn chair and a middle aged spaceman who would start beating himself up over missing that catch back in the '88 state finals.