Extravagant high school football stadium reminds us of journalistic values neglected since pandemic

While interning in the Dallas Morning News sports department this summer, I was surprised when I was asked to drive more than an hour out of town to Celina, Texas, to speak with Celina High School football coach Bill Elliott…for a total of three minutes.

Why couldn’t I send him a Zoom link?

In a post-COVID world, “face-to-face” meetings have become Zoom forums and even FaceTime conversations with your mother from upstairs. Now, “in person” is a social arrangement that is never assumed or prioritized. It must be explicitly requested, marking an event that cannot be held virtually.

As a Generation Z journalist, I was accustomed and comfortable with the virtual space, without realizing how much could be lost there.

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. to watch Celina’s 6 a.m. game start, the team’s first practice of the fall season.

I headed north on US-75 before ending up on an unmarked, unlit, and barely paved back road. At every twisting turn, I was certain that cattle would emerge from the darkness or that I might get lost.

After 20 minutes of gravel, potholes and prayers, I saw the light – literally.

The lights of the Celina football stadium appeared unexpectedly, illuminating the early morning sky. It was the only sight visible for miles around.

It took just that image to recognize Bobcat Stadium as the beating heart of the small town of Celina.

The stadium, which rivals some college facilities in size, can seat 10,000 fans, or one-fifth of Celina’s population.

Bobcat Stadium, built with $24.5 million of city money in 2019, also includes an indoor training facility, weight room, film room, locker room and an $800,000 scoreboard.

The city spared no expense for its high school football players, with school board members unanimously approving improvements and seemingly ignoring any necessary spending on roads.

MORE FROM POYNTER: Exclusion: Strategies for good journalism when sources reject the press

When I arrived, I walked through the facilities, constantly wondering why I didn’t have these amenities as a college athlete.

Elliott, in his 13th season at the helm of Celina, steered the ship with rigor. At any moment, his voice could be heard on the field, shouting orders and demanding more effort.

Before sunrise, nearly 100 players, comprising three of Celina’s five teams (yes, five football teams from one high school), sprinted onto the field as Elliott’s assistants yelled, “Set the tone!”

The eight-time state champions weren’t even allowed to walk during the transition between exercises.

“If you want to walk, join the other team,” I heard Elliott say.

I stopped a woman wearing a Celina zip-up sweater and walking her Pomeranian on the trail. I needed to know more about being a Bobcat.

The woman, the senior running back’s mother, expressed the city’s love for Celina football. She told me the stands fill with locals for the team’s “first fully padded practice,” an event that takes place two weeks into the season. Afterward, the players grill hot dogs for their fans, a cherished Celina tradition.

I grew up in St. Petersburg, Florida where football was a big thing. I spent most Friday nights cheering on the St. Pete High School Green Devils.

But that day I learned that Texas high school football is unlike any other. It is not loved, but revered.

What could have been a three-minute Zoom meeting turned into one of the most impactful experiences of my internship.

It taught me the power of entering a community, asking questions and observing every detail around me – journalistic values that have certainly been underestimated since the pandemic.

I felt connected to Celina in a way that would have been impossible behind a screen.

After practice was over, I waited for my three minutes with Elliott while he high-fived each player as they entered the locker room.

Even though Elliott’s voice begged for more during practice, his body language conveyed nothing but gratitude. Watching him look each player in the eye and pat them on the back, the outpouring of love he felt for his team couldn’t have been more evident.

My experience on the sidelines proved more valuable than anything he could tell me.

He told me he was grateful that I drove to Celina, and I certainly was too.