The timelessness of Friday night lights brings Memphis together

The two men leaned against the chain link fence along the back row of the visitor’s bleachers at Memphis University School Friday night and dissected almost every play together.

Ronald Newsom went to Kingsbury High School. Melvin Caldwell attended Melrose High.

Caldwell was a defensive end. Newsom never played football.

Newsom was white. Caldwell was African-American.

Newsom lives in Arlington. Caldwell is from Memphis.

Caldwell’s son, Melvin Jr., was playing in his first varsity game for Ridgeway High. Newsom’s wife was in the midst of her first game as Ridgeway’s cheerleading coach.

Before Friday, the two had never met. But then they randomly ended up sitting next to one another, and a bond formed.

“High school football, you meet people that you’d probably never meet in your lifetime,” Newsom said.

This, more than the final score or the statistics, is why there remains a timelessness to Friday night lights. The cheerleaders and pep bands, the parents working the snack bar, it’s something every neighborhood can relate to, regardless of our race or political affiliation or income.

This is why the start of high school football season often feels like the start of a new year on the sports calendar here in Memphis.

It means we’re only a few weeks away from finding out whether University of Memphis football can continue its recent resurgence. It means we’re only a little over a month away from when the Memphis men’s basketball team and the Memphis Grizzlies begin practice.  

It means, after a summer spent on vacations and at camp, families from different backgrounds come back together to support a common cause through the football field. This is true whether you're in South Memphis, Germantown, Cordova or Bartlett.

“It’s about just getting in the atmosphere where the community is getting back involved with the kids,” said longtime Ridgeway High boys’ basketball coach Wes Henning, as he watched Friday’s game at MUS from the track.

So the fact that MUS mostly overwhelmed Ridgeway, 34-0, behind the exploits of LSU commit Maurice Hampton was mostly an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. So was the flat screen television on the MUS sideline, which the Owls' players and coaches used to instantly break down the previous series of plays – a luxury Ridgeway did not have.

What stood out more is that many of Ridgeway’s players and fans walked the 1.2 miles along Ridgeway Road that separate their public school from the immaculate MUS campus. Or that the MUS student section was packed with high school kids who painted their bodies and stood most of the game cheering for their friends and classmates. Or that MUS parents wore pins with pictures of their sons to show support while walking around the stadium and stands.

They were all together in one place, taking part in a weekly fall (or in this case, summer) ritual that generations before them have as well. It’s a part of football that gets overlooked in the debates about concussions and CTE and the serious risks that we now know accompany playing this sport.

It’s why high school football still matters so much.

The tradition of it all is what led MUS sophomore Michael Gallagher to the sideline Friday night, living and dying with every play even though the Owls had a comfortable lead in the second half.

When the coaches called out a play with a hand signal, Gallagher did the same. When MUS scored a touchdown, Gallagher aggressively pumped his fist, jumping in the air with joy despite the game having long since been decided. He then jogged onto the field to greet the players with a slap on the shoulder pads.

He became a team manager last year after deciding he was too small to play football at MUS. But he still wanted to be involved.

“Just the environment,” Gallagher said. “Friday night, all these people out here, this is what it’s all about.”