Free Friday Night Lights: A Town, a Team, and a Dream by H. G. Bissinger

lavish attention, as was every
former Permian player who had once been ordained a star. So
many people had come up to him when he was a senior that he
couldn't keep track of their names, and it seemed weird how
much they knew about him when he knew absolutely nothing
about them. During the playoffs, when he had suffered a bruise
on his thigh that looked as if it might keep him out of the game
the following week, a hundred people called the trainer's office
to ask about his condition. It got to the point that Trapper, halfjoking, half-serious, posted updates on Crow outside the trainer's office.
    To treat the injury he had spent almost three straight days
in the trainer's office and didn't have to go to class. The excuses from class surprised Crow, who would ultimately have to
take the SAT college entrance exam four times to get over
the 700-point combined score that the NCAA required of a
would-be college player to qualify for an athletic scholarship
without any eligibility restrictions. On the other hand, the
courses he was taking were not very difficult; so that academics
would create as little interference as possible during the football season, he had taken English and government during summer school.

    "The teachers understood what they were doing. They respect football," Crow said. "My photography teacher loved
Permian football. He said it was okay [to miss classes]. The
other two didn't want me in class because they knew I would be
dripping water from the ice [being applied to his thigh]." The
following week in a playoff game against Denton, Crow had
gained 119 yards and scored a touchdown as Permian won
16-3 and advanced to the quarterfinals.
    After the season he had spoken to a group of elementary
school kids over at Dowling. He read them an Amelia Bedelia
children's book. A short time later he received letters from little
boys asking for his autograph and from little girls asking him
for dates.
    "I'm sorry I kept staring at you. I just couldn't help myself
you are so fine!" said Kaci.
    "Even though you have trouble reading, I think you read
good. I hope that some day you will become a professional football player," said Shauna.
    "I really enjoyed your reading. It was really interesting when
you told everybody how many touchdowns you made," said
James.
    The next burst of applause at the Watermelon Feed came when
it was time to introduce the members of the Permian football
team individually.
    When their names were called they walked down a narrow
aisle separating the cafeteria in half. Ivory Christian acted like
a bride at the wedding, each step slow and measured, luxuriating in the applause and the hundreds of eyes beckoning to him.
He could have spent hours moving down that thirty-foot aisle,
for this was the part of the game he truly did love, the attention,
the adulation, as far removed as possible from the grit and relentless routine of the practice field.
    Not everyone was so eager. Mike Winchell walked with his
head cocked toward the floor, those furtive, brooding eyes
burning holes somewhere, wishing he could be anyplace but here, in the midst of all this outlandish noise and attention.
More than anything in life, he hated crowds, and his dream
was to live by himself near the red-rocked canyons of the wild
Devil's River.

    And then there was Boobie.
    As Gaines told the crowd that Boobie would be the one to fill
the shoes of Shawn Crow this year, Boobie himself felt a certain
nervousness and excitement. Boobie was never one to praise
others, particularly other running backs, but Crow had earned
the ultimate compliment from him. "'Fell the truth, he's the first
white boy I've ever seen run like that," Boobie said in his singsong cadence that sounded like the ruminations of a rap song.
"Pretty had white boy. White that can run like that? Not like
Crow. He can run."
    But Boobie wasn't worried about stepping into the role. He
knew he could do it, get that ball, tuck