The color isn't just what we wear — it’s a standard. A weight. A memory stitched into fabric and dirt.
We gather where the lines are drawn in chalk and time —
not only for glory, but also to honor those who carved their legacy before us.
The ground thrums with an old cadence —
the drums…then the action…then the held breaths before the strike. The roar that then rises from not only mouths, but from hearts as well…reminds us that what happens here echoes far beyond the grass.