The night was alive. People flocked from all over town to witness this weekly event and have time to get together with friends and family in the shiny seats and watch, as the attraction unfolded below under the bright, white lights igniting the whole event. I stood there in the stands amongst friends as the large group of high school boys ran up and down the field below. I witnessed the large group of people dressed in identical uniforms in the stands off to my right, playing away on their instruments as a shortish, proper looking senior conducted them in a sort of dancing manor. I heard a whistle call out from somewhere on the field as all of the guys began to form into lines and formations. There were smells all around, the distinct aroma of oil cooking sliced potatoes somewhere far away on the next street. The clear and crisp scent of a cold, fall evening and the brisk chill of the cold air on my exposed skin. I heard the sharp, clear whistle blast again and the people kneeled on the field began to count and then sprinted into a heated frenzy going after the almost egg-shaped roundish object which one of the people held in an upright position, as if poised to throw it to someone.