To make a high school football game, the recipe calls for some necessary ingredients.

You start with Friday night lights. You add the teams. You sprinkle a few press and TV and radio guys and you cook yourself an American tradition that’s been the conversation on family tables since the first game was played in 1894.

But wait! It doesn’t taste like it used to taste. It’s missing something. It’s bland. A few spices were left out. You look back at the recipe and you realize that you forgot three major ingredients: the fans, the cheerleaders and the marching band.

I have covered football games for this paper for quite some time now. This year, I was at opening night for the Lehighton vs. Panther Valley game. The rules about who can attend an outdoor event were a bit different then. The Panthers’ cheerleaders lined up to welcome their team charging through a “Go Panthers” banner onto the field.

At half time, PV’s band did what all home team bands do; they played in front of the visiting bleachers. No Lehighton fans were allowed to attend the game, so the band performed in front of exactly one person.

That person was me.

I was not allowed in the press box due to social distancing guidelines, so I sat in the bleachers on the visitors’ side across from the 50-yard line. While the band played on, I didn’t know whether I should feel privileged or feel guilty, and it was really a little of both.

Last week, undefeated North Schuylkill met undefeated Jim Thorpe on the same field. A game that normally would have attracted thousands of fans was played before the press and a few hooded incognito people who sat in the bleachers on the Jim Thorpe side.

The announcer went through his usual pregame ritual.

“Any fan throwing objects on the field or shouting inappropriate remarks at coaches, players or officials will be removed from the stadium.”

I looked around and thought if the guy sitting across the field from me in the top row of the bleachers that was underneath a metal roof shouted anything inappropriate, security personnel would have no problem identifying him because the good fellow was socially distanced about 30 yards from anybody else. In fact, Panther Valley Stadium, like most high school athletic venues, could easily seat hundreds of fans with plenty of social distancing in between.

Some unfamiliar sounds could be heard through the night that are not so common during a normal football game. A North Schuylkill coach, who stood about 15 yards to my left shouted obscenities whenever his Spartans messed up a play. I could hear coach and player strategy chatter on the sideline. I heard the TV and radio commentators’ comments from the press box that was right above me.

At halftime, I heard the strangest sound of all. That was the sound of silence. No students paraded around the field. No fans headed for the concession stand, which of course, was closed and left me missing the smell of sizzling burgers on the grill. No cheerleaders were there to do their routines. No bands performed on the field.

What was hyped by the Times News as the Game of the Week was televised and broadcast into the homes of fans who couldn’t come, to families who couldn’t see their sons play in front of them and yet parents couldn’t watch cheerleaders who weren’t there or listen to their kids play in the bands that were absent during the customary halftime show.

Last spring, I had called a radio station to make notice of all the high school seniors who were missing their sports seasons, their proms and their graduations only to be chastised by the host who said, “You tell all those kids they’ll at least be alive 25 years from now so they shouldn’t care about games and dances and graduations they missed in high school.”

But they do care. So do all the families who are not allowed to go to these football games to watch their kids do their thing.

It’s not about throwing health risks to the wind. We all know what the virus has done and can still do, but to trivialize high school traditions that make lifetime memories is unfair to any young person who wears a uniform for these fleeting four years.

I can hear someone say, “Well at least they’re playing the games,” and he’s right about that. Once the whistle blows, the players are focused only on their responsibilities to their team and to their coaches. Yet, something is missing when a player like North Schuylkill’s Dylan Dietz catches five passes, scores 15 points and makes three interceptions without his family in attendance.

The ramifications are real. With spikes predicted this fall in positive cases, no one wants to see that happen, especially where many young people are together at an athletic event.

I respect the public health concerns and safety guidelines. I’m simply pointing out that when we remember the 2020 football season years from now it might be less about who won the games and more about that hardly anyone was there to see them.

Rich Strack can be reached at katehep11@gmail.com.