We have seats. Really good seats. Behind the bench in the middle of the field. But every Saturday, before the game starts, the boys like to climb down the Hill.
The way down is precipitous and steep, momentum propelling us faster than we can control, our ankles buckling on the uneven ground.
When we finally reach the bottom, they sit as still as can be, as the percussive vibrations of the band commingle in the air with the raucous cheers of the crowd.
Two boys who rarely stop moving for anything are rendered completely motionless, despite the chaos that surrounds them.