It was my youngest brother's final home (high school) football game, and since I'm now living about an hour away and wasn't feeling completely stressed, I decided to go. We get there just as the first half is ending and run into my middle brother, who is on his way to have a beer or two at the bar across the street during halftime. There are little girls in "Go Bulldogs" T-shirts everywhere, supposedly preparing to put on a "halftime show." I see someone I recognize in the stands--a girl I used to babysit. The swarm of 'tweens rushes the field, and my former charge begins to cheer: her daughter is one of the swarm. The kid is 10 or 12 years old. And I used to babysit her mother. Damn I'm old. So the swarm does a bunch of barely decipherable cheers, and then they get to one I know--only I don't know it. Back when I was in high school (in the olden days) we used to "jiggelo". Apparently, parents became concerned that students were not "jiggelo"-ing, but "gigelo"-ing, and now they "wiggelo". So the game resumes. Good guys down 6-14. No, that's not two field goals against two touchdowns. That is 3 touchdowns, 2 missed extra points and a 2 point conversion. "Friday Nght Lights" this is not. They can't throw, they can't kick field goals or extra points. There was one kid on the field that looked like he had potential, but Dad said he's 5'2" or something, which would probably hamper his chance to play on even an MIAC team. Lousy. The good guys did come back to win, thanks, in no small part, to a fumble recovery by my brother. The final score was something like 18-14: 5 touchdowns and a 2-point conversion. Wow.