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Traditions

Started by Gr3yhounds, February 10, 2017, 08:47:43 am

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Gr3yhounds

What are some traditions you have for football in your schools

Made

Fordyce had a horseshoe on a plaque with a redbug on it, we would touch it on the way out the door to a game. Not sure if they still do it.

adaptedtigerfan


ChucktownTiger


Dr. Defense

Quote from: Made on February 10, 2017, 08:56:54 am
Fordyce had a horseshoe on a plaque with a redbug on it, we would touch it on the way out the door to a game. Not sure if they still do it.

Did it when I played there still but that's been a while now

FBGFDRUM

This is kind of a secret, but I'm sure they won't find me.

Every year before the season starts, we go to the shrine. (disguised as an abandoned restroom behind Charleston Lake) and knock on the door once for every year we win state (most people simply don't have the endurance to stand there that long.) If we are deemed worthy, the door will open eerily on its own. Once we step into the bathroom, the furthermost stall will be slightly ajar. Open it up and we are greeted, not with a toilet, but with stairs that look hundreds of years old. It takes about 30 seconds to descend down the stairs, but once we reach the bottom we are greeted to a hall dimly lit with candles. We walk down the hallway until we reach the sacrifice room. Most simply can't handle this part and flee, but the most loyal of us stay and bare witness to our surroundings. Tiger jerseys, both new and old, adorn every inch of the walls. Listen close and you can hear the whispers of the players that wore them long ago. In the middle of the room stands a bronze statue of a tiger ready to pounce. Not quite sure why this was in here because it looked quite cheesy, but to each their own. Anyways, the sacrifice is then brought in for the grand finale. I can't say what the sacrifice is, but, then a sword made of melted championship rings is taken down from the wall. Once the deed is done the candles illuminating the room will go out. We stand for what feels like an eternity in complete darkness. Our eyes are then blinded by an ethereal light, and from that light comes The Ghost of Stephen Wood, you can barely make out his figure, as if the light is emanating from his very soul. He raises his left hand and with a snap of his finger, we wake up outside the abandoned restroom, as if it was all a dream. The only evidence that anything ever happened is the word "Titletown" burned onto your body.


We also tailgate at my mom's house on Fridays before the game.

CoolBreeze

Quote from: FBGFDRUM on March 04, 2017, 10:44:52 pm
This is kind of a secret, but I'm sure they won't find me.

Every year before the season starts, we go to the shrine. (disguised as an abandoned restroom behind Charleston Lake) and knock on the door once for every year we win state (most people simply don't have the endurance to stand there that long.) If we are deemed worthy, the door will open eerily on its own. Once we step into the bathroom, the furthermost stall will be slightly ajar. Open it up and we are greeted, not with a toilet, but with stairs that look hundreds of years old. It takes about 30 seconds to descend down the stairs, but once we reach the bottom we are greeted to a hall dimly lit with candles. We walk down the hallway until we reach the sacrifice room. Most simply can't handle this part and flee, but the most loyal of us stay and bare witness to our surroundings. Tiger jerseys, both new and old, adorn every inch of the walls. Listen close and you can hear the whispers of the players that wore them long ago. In the middle of the room stands a bronze statue of a tiger ready to pounce. Not quite sure why this was in here because it looked quite cheesy, but to each their own. Anyways, the sacrifice is then brought in for the grand finale. I can't say what the sacrifice is, but, then a sword made of melted championship rings is taken down from the wall. Once the deed is done the candles illuminating the room will go out. We stand for what feels like an eternity in complete darkness. Our eyes are then blinded by an ethereal light, and from that light comes The Ghost of Stephen Wood, you can barely make out his figure, as if the light is emanating from his very soul. He raises his left hand and with a snap of his finger, we wake up outside the abandoned restroom, as if it was all a dream. The only evidence that anything ever happened is the word "Titletown" burned onto your body.


We also tailgate at my mom's house on Fridays before the game.
Great Post. ROFLOL.

Jimbo Morphis

Quote from: FBGFDRUM on March 04, 2017, 10:44:52 pm
This is kind of a secret, but I'm sure they won't find me.

Every year before the season starts, we go to the shrine. (disguised as an abandoned restroom behind Charleston Lake) and knock on the door once for every year we win state (most people simply don't have the endurance to stand there that long.) If we are deemed worthy, the door will open eerily on its own. Once we step into the bathroom, the furthermost stall will be slightly ajar. Open it up and we are greeted, not with a toilet, but with stairs that look hundreds of years old. It takes about 30 seconds to descend down the stairs, but once we reach the bottom we are greeted to a hall dimly lit with candles. We walk down the hallway until we reach the sacrifice room. Most simply can't handle this part and flee, but the most loyal of us stay and bare witness to our surroundings. Tiger jerseys, both new and old, adorn every inch of the walls. Listen close and you can hear the whispers of the players that wore them long ago. In the middle of the room stands a bronze statue of a tiger ready to pounce. Not quite sure why this was in here because it looked quite cheesy, but to each their own. Anyways, the sacrifice is then brought in for the grand finale. I can't say what the sacrifice is, but, then a sword made of melted championship rings is taken down from the wall. Once the deed is done the candles illuminating the room will go out. We stand for what feels like an eternity in complete darkness. Our eyes are then blinded by an ethereal light, and from that light comes The Ghost of Stephen Wood, you can barely make out his figure, as if the light is emanating from his very soul. He raises his left hand and with a snap of his finger, we wake up outside the abandoned restroom, as if it was all a dream. The only evidence that anything ever happened is the word "Titletown" burned onto your body.


We also tailgate at my mom's house on Fridays before the game.
Quote from: FBGFDRUM on March 04, 2017, 10:44:52 pm
This is kind of a secret, but I'm sure they won't find me.

Every year before the season starts, we go to the shrine. (disguised as an abandoned restroom behind Charleston Lake) and knock on the door once for every year we win state (most people simply don't have the endurance to stand there that long.) If we are deemed worthy, the door will open eerily on its own. Once we step into the bathroom, the furthermost stall will be slightly ajar. Open it up and we are greeted, not with a toilet, but with stairs that look hundreds of years old. It takes about 30 seconds to descend down the stairs, but once we reach the bottom we are greeted to a hall dimly lit with candles. We walk down the hallway until we reach the sacrifice room. Most simply can't handle this part and flee, but the most loyal of us stay and bare witness to our surroundings. Tiger jerseys, both new and old, adorn every inch of the walls. Listen close and you can hear the whispers of the players that wore them long ago. In the middle of the room stands a bronze statue of a tiger ready to pounce. Not quite sure why this was in here because it looked quite cheesy, but to each their own. Anyways, the sacrifice is then brought in for the grand finale. I can't say what the sacrifice is, but, then a sword made of melted championship rings is taken down from the wall. Once the deed is done the candles illuminating the room will go out. We stand for what feels like an eternity in complete darkness. Our eyes are then blinded by an ethereal light, and from that light comes The Ghost of Stephen Wood, you can barely make out his figure, as if the light is emanating from his very soul. He raises his left hand and with a snap of his finger, we wake up outside the abandoned restroom, as if it was all a dream. The only evidence that anything ever happened is the word "Titletown" burned onto your body.


We also tailgate at my mom's house on Fridays before the game.
Easily the best post ever in March.

YC

Quote from: FBGFDRUM on March 04, 2017, 10:44:52 pm
This is kind of a secret, but I'm sure they won't find me.

Every year before the season starts, we go to the shrine. (disguised as an abandoned restroom behind Charleston Lake) and knock on the door once for every year we win state (most people simply don't have the endurance to stand there that long.) If we are deemed worthy, the door will open eerily on its own. Once we step into the bathroom, the furthermost stall will be slightly ajar. Open it up and we are greeted, not with a toilet, but with stairs that look hundreds of years old. It takes about 30 seconds to descend down the stairs, but once we reach the bottom we are greeted to a hall dimly lit with candles. We walk down the hallway until we reach the sacrifice room. Most simply can't handle this part and flee, but the most loyal of us stay and bare witness to our surroundings. Tiger jerseys, both new and old, adorn every inch of the walls. Listen close and you can hear the whispers of the players that wore them long ago. In the middle of the room stands a bronze statue of a tiger ready to pounce. Not quite sure why this was in here because it looked quite cheesy, but to each their own. Anyways, the sacrifice is then brought in for the grand finale. I can't say what the sacrifice is, but, then a sword made of melted championship rings is taken down from the wall. Once the deed is done the candles illuminating the room will go out. We stand for what feels like an eternity in complete darkness. Our eyes are then blinded by an ethereal light, and from that light comes The Ghost of Stephen Wood, you can barely make out his figure, as if the light is emanating from his very soul. He raises his left hand and with a snap of his finger, we wake up outside the abandoned restroom, as if it was all a dream. The only evidence that anything ever happened is the word "Titletown" burned onto your body.


We also tailgate at my mom's house on Fridays before the game.

I know I won't find you because I'm not going to be looking for you young lady. I do however wish I knew who you were so as to make sure I don't get within a hundred yards of you. It makes me nervous to know we possibly live in the same town... Lol.

beaverpride

And that was how long ago Dr. of Defense??? Were you able to touch it carrying all those water bottles for the players? ::)

Dr. Defense

Quote from: beaverpride on March 09, 2017, 11:47:41 am
And that was how long ago Dr. of Defense??? Were you able to touch it carrying all those water bottles for the players? ::)

Long enough BP......I was an All State waterboy

4real

Growing up a Little John back in the 80's and 90's was a great experience, except for the years of 7th and 8th grade football... jr high practice was after lunch and all boys 7-9 practiced together which is a bad idea... well, we were expected to be early to the field house after only having about 5 minutes to eat lunch.  We usually beat the coaches over there. The 9th graders would get there first and make a huddle.   They would start chanting a poor little 7th or 8th grade boys name.  If you heard your name, it meant your butt.  All the 9th graders would then break out to pounce the poor lad like a new gang recruit beat in.  Hazing was an unstoppable component of the young Little John experience in those days. That and fist fights

Longfellow

Quote from: 4real on March 09, 2017, 08:01:22 pm
Growing up a Little John back in the 80's and 90's was a great experience, except for the years of 7th and 8th grade football... jr high practice was after lunch and all boys 7-9 practiced together which is a bad idea... well, we were expected to be early to the field house after only having about 5 minutes to eat lunch.  We usually beat the coaches over there. The 9th graders would get there first and make a huddle.   They would start chanting a poor little 7th or 8th grade boys name.  If you heard your name, it meant your butt.  All the 9th graders would then break out to pounce the poor lad like a new gang recruit beat in.  Hazing was an unstoppable component of the young Little John experience in those days. That and fist fights
Doesn't sound like a very good tradition

Danvillegrad77

Quote from: 4real on March 09, 2017, 08:01:22 pm
Growing up a Little John back in the 80's and 90's was a great experience, except for the years of 7th and 8th grade football... jr high practice was after lunch and all boys 7-9 practiced together which is a bad idea... well, we were expected to be early to the field house after only having about 5 minutes to eat lunch.  We usually beat the coaches over there. The 9th graders would get there first and make a huddle.   They would start chanting a poor little 7th or 8th grade boys name.  If you heard your name, it meant your butt.  All the 9th graders would then break out to pounce the poor lad like a new gang recruit beat in.  Hazing was an unstoppable component of the young Little John experience in those days. That and fist fights
Nothing like that back in my days, oh so long ago!  LOL!!  hope it doesn't happen now.,

beaverpride

thought i saw you trip n fall once doc with a cooler that was your size.

Dr. Defense

Quote from: beaverpride on March 10, 2017, 11:52:13 am
thought i saw you trip n fall once doc with a cooler that was your size.
Yep I coulda went pro if not for that injury

beaverpride

Thats all the coaches fault doc...He didnt utilize your talents properly and didnt get yo name out der..But....IT IS WHUT IT IZZ

Dr. Defense

Quote from: beaverpride on March 15, 2017, 11:44:23 am
Thats all the coaches fault doc...He didnt utilize your talents properly and didnt get yo name out der..But....IT IS WHUT IT IZZ

You know what BP, you are so right. It is always the coaches fault

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