The blazing Florida sun causes another bead of sweat to slowly glide down my forehead, as I wipe it off with my shaky hand. I quickly walk with a group of boys and girls in matching red polos. As we arrive on the field, two giant jumbotrons surround me. Eager fans with teal pride file into their seats with snacks and beer in hand, trying to avoid the guilt of spilling something onto somebody’s sweat-soaked head. Each step closer to the fifty-yard mark brings me more joy and nervousness. The crowd begins to shrink until they appear the size of ants, as I walk farther and farther away from it. We reach the giant number 50, and angle towards the center of the field, painting a smile on our faces. My ears focus on nothing but the starting pitch, until they were blasted by a roar of the crowd as tall and lean adult women wave their teal and gold pom-poms in the air and dance to popular music. I look at the jumbotron to see beautiful advocates having the time of their lives, leaving the fans in awe. I look back at myself to see a slumped cereal box-shaped body and sigh quietly, glad to hear it not echo into the crowd. The cheerleaders finish their routine and wave their pom-poms on the sidelines. I suddenly hear “And now, please rise for our Nation’s Anthem, sung by the local Children’s Chorus!” Fans all over the stadium rise and remove their hats. A deep breath arises from the small group of talented singers, followed by “O say, can you see…”