"Build for your team a feeling of oneness, of dependence on one another and of strength to be derived by unity." - Vince Lombardi It’s Thursday night.  Out on the field, the players go through their final walk through, the end of a week long preparation for Friday night’s game.  It’s always a relief when Thursday comes along.  The hard stuff is over, at least for this week.  No more hitting and running and lifting.  No more drills and scrimmages and the always dreaded “burpees” (don’t even ask).  Dressed in gym shorts and t-shirts and wearing only helmets, they walk through the offensive and defensive sets for the last time; just to make sure they know what to do.

And then they eat.

Every Thursday night, the football team gathers together for the team dinner.   It’s part of the teambuilding done by the coaches who realize the value of coming together as one.  Hours earlier, the parents of the players arrive, hauling coolers of Gatorade and water, slabs of tri-tip and cases of corn on the cob, ready to be thrown onto the large, industrial sized grill that is required to feed these hungry boys.  It is a sight to behold for sure as bags of charcoal are dumped into the grill and when they're ready, plastic zip-lock bags holding 47 lbs of marinated tri-tip are opened and thrown over the red-hot coals.

I raced around late Wednesday night, wondering how much ricotta I would need to make enough lasagna to feed the masses.  I’ve cooked for some pretty big crowds in my day but there was something daunting about 60 testosterone laden behemoths, although for the life of me I couldn’t put my finger on it.  In the end, I found my way into a restaurant supply store, loading 5 lb tubs of ricotta and enormous cans of marinara sauce into the cart, unsure if my calculations were correct.  Who knew that lasagna noodles came in 10 lb boxes?  Add 10 lbs of ricotta, several enormous cans of marinara and a mere 8 ½ lbs of shredded mozzarella and that was all that was needed to whip up three steam pans full of the ooey gooey carbo-loading treat.  Cooked to perfection (thank goodness for double ovens!) I loaded it into a caterer’s “hot box” and off I drove, careful not to take any sharp corners or stop too suddenly, lest the hours of toil wind up all over the bed of the principal’s pickup truck.

This was my second foray into team dinner.  Earlier in the season I drew salad duty and promptly filled several (clean) garbage bags full of perfectly washed, dried and torn romaine lettuce for bowl after bowl of Caesar salad.  That was a piece of cake compared to lasagna for 60, but hey, I’m always up for a challenge.

So there we were.  With the tri-tip cooked, salad served and lasagna at the ready, the boys made their way to the makeshift dining room, hungry and ready to eat.

I’m not sure what I expected.  Pandemonium?  A sense of urgency?  Rolls flying through the air?   A scene from “Animal House?”  I mean these are teenage boys after all.

But what I saw surprised me.  They gathered together, arm in arm.  Real close, the way a family comes together, as if it has always been that way.  There were no large gaps, no “personal space”, no awkward, homophobic moments.  They stood toe-to-toe, shoulder-to-shoulder, hand in hand, and bowing their heads, they prayed; for the food, for each other, for safety and a good game.

And then they lined up, grabbed a plate and said thanks.  To each one of us.  “This looks great,” they said.  “That’s my favorite,” they said.  “Yes, please,” they said.  “And thanks so much for doing this.”  Wow.

There was a flurry of excitement as they found their way to the tables decorated with Christmas gumdrops and candy canes and messages of encouragement handwritten on the butcher paper tablecloths.   They laughed and talked and shared stories.  They teased each other and joked, talking in their own secret vernacular, connecting and bonding the way a family does as they sit around the dinner table and talk about their day.  And they ate.  And ate and ate and ate.

In the end, the 47 lbs of marinated tri-tip were gone as was the lasagna and the salad and 12 pans of Grandma Gowan’s homemade apple crisp.  After the chairs were stacked, off they went into team meetings to talk over last minute plans.  And just like that, it was gone.  A napkin here, an empty plate there, the only reminders of what had just transpired.

Hard work.  Friendship.  Connection. Team.  A moment shared around the dinner table.

Friday is game day.  Saturday morning they start again.