I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I had no idea what the term “Friday Night Lights” meant until about a week ago. FNL, according to my Texan classmate, is associated with high school football games that are usually played on Friday nights and is NOT a reference to the lights of Las Vegas nightclubs and casinos that are on during the weekend – as I had guessed at the start. Coming from Chicago, I never really felt the spirit of football like the typical tropes of American high school movies.

Ironically, my school was founded by the late Chicago Bears running back Walter Payton, but somehow our football team still sucked. Being in the middle of high-rise buildings meant we couldn’t even have a soccer field. Although the football games were never really attended regularly, our homecoming game usually had a good turnout – at least that’s what I heard, considering I only went once during my senior year, and even then, I showed up in the middle of the game.

The ride home, or Hoco for short, into town was an opportunity to wear a cheap, short dress – mine was a $15 Fashion Nova dress that I had cut off 15 minutes before going out – to go at a pre party, to stay at the Hoco party for an evening. hour at the most, then arrive at some random after-party whose theme was probably “high-risk affairs.” Because most of my high school acquaintances were city kids, I wasn’t privy to the real football culture until I came to Yale.

Apparently a “real” homecoming involves a week-long celebration. Students can dress for school in different silly themes each day. Getting a date to prom really mattered, and every girl dreamed of a boy approaching them with a box of donuts and a sign that said, “Please Donut, say no… Hoco?” The dresses were probably from Sherri Hill and going to a meadow involved posing for coordinated photos taken by all the parents. As my classmates at Yale look back on memories like these – ones I never had the opportunity to experience – I sometimes wonder if I missed the opportunity to enjoy such frivolous activities, knowing that we’re only once in high school. In the end, I would still never trade the spontaneity of having the city as a campus, where plans could be made on a whim and where the fun, in my opinion, seemed more genuine than the more scripted joys of suburban life.

From what I understand, the football culture at Yale is more in line with my high school experience than the movies, which I admit is personally comforting. I rarely hear about football games, and when I do, I never feel FOMO about not attending. Of course, there is one exception: the famous Harvard-Yale match. In my head, the game is the only opportunity for urban and suburban kids to come together to rah-rah for Yale. It’s also the perfect exposure of who is truly “city slicker” and who isn’t – I’m talking about all you fake suburbanites who say you’re from the city when you live an hour away. Unfortunately, I won’t be in attendance, but to all the kids in town, just know that I will join you in spirit while you are confused, trying to figure out what is happening on the ground.