The photographs on this page, brought to life.

Twenty-two boys, one bus, and a town that emptied out every Friday night. They were not supposed to be good. They had lost nine games the year before and graduated their only quarterback. What they had was a coach who made them run the same goal-line play until they could run it in the dark, and a crowd that stood along the fence line in November rain. The semifinal went to double overtime. The final was decided on a two-point conversion with under a minute left that half the county still argues about. They lost the state game by nine, and nobody here remembers the score. Nine of the twenty-two still live within an hour of Westfield, and they get a table at the Legion every October. This page is for the three who do not, and for the coach, who died in 2019.