New London — And so The Big Game approaches, the one they've been talking about for a while now around here. The oldest rivalry of them all. Even in places — Texas, Florida, California — where zealotry follows high school football like the blanket did Linus, there's nothing older in the whole world than New London vs. Norwich Free Academy.

The Whalers are lucky enough to know this will not be their last game of the season. It might be for NFA. Adds to the intrigue. But if for only a minute or two, in the time it takes to finish reading this, how about we forgo the circumstances of the game and honor the privilege of playing in it?

Keyword: privilege. Not everybody gets to do this. And it applies to kids all over the region, some of whom are playing their last game Thursday morning. Last game. Ever. And even if it's not, as in the case of the Whalers, this is your last Thanksgiving game. A day like no other. Biggest crowd. Everyone's home. The people who wore the uniform before you watching. Expecting. Critiquing.

And so what follows are some excerpts from one of the greatest sports columns ever written, 25 years ago now by Gerry Callahan of the Boston Herald, about the last high school football game of your life.

Callahan: "The alarm will go off even earlier than usual Thursday, but somehow it won't be so tough to get up and out of bed. You couldn't sleep any later if you tried. You'll be awake half the night and into the morning, staring at the ceiling and anxiously looking ahead to the big game. The last football game of your life."

Think about that for a minute. All the practices. Bus rides. Chalk talks. Gassers. All the days you wished away just to get to Friday night. Now this is it. The last time the pads ever go on.

Callahan: "When you get to the locker room, there is a different kind of tension in the air. You put on the pads a little slower tomorrow because you may never do it again. There were days when you thought you'd never miss this dirty, smelly, sweaty locker room, but this is definitely not one of those days. You'll do a lot of things in the next few years, go to college, get married, have kids, start a life, but you'll never do this again. You'll never buckle up your chinstrap, look across the huddle at your best friend, and just go out and play hard together. Now you know: You'll miss it a lot."

More Callahan: "You are a senior in high school, and a couple of your teammates hope to play next year in college. They hope this is just a step, the first chapter in a long, glorious football career. There was a time when you had the same goal, the dream, but now, deep down inside, you're pretty sure it will never happen. This is it, the end of the line. This is your famous final scene on a football field. This is Thanksgiving Day, and for the boys under the shoulder pads and helmets, there will never be anything like it."

All the kids Thursday morning, from Waterford to Westerly, will share the experience. They'll look around more. They'll come face to face with finality. They might cry. And that's a good thing. Because it means so much.

Callahan: "Maybe you'll see the kid who wore your number before you did. Remember how you looked up to him a couple of years ago, how you only wanted to someday play like him? Thanksgiving, he will be looking out at you, cheering for you. And take a look along the sideline. Maybe a young kid is going to be looking up at you. Maybe he hopes to wear your number next year. And next year you'll be in the stands, with your buddies and your memories of this day, the last time you wore the pads. You'll see him out there. You'll cheer. You'll know just how he feels."

It's a day of sentiment. Inspiration. Melancholy. It's like the Jim Valvano line of a great day:

"To me there are three things everyone should do every day," he said during his memorable ESPY speech in 1993. "Number one is laugh. Number two is think. Spend some time in thought. Number three, you should have your emotions move you to tears. If you laugh, think and cry, that's a heck of a day."

You will all laugh, think and cry on Thursday.

Callahan: "When your coach calls you all together for his pregame speech, he lets it all hang out. As his speeches go, this is the heavy artillery. He reminds you that everyone is watching. He says this is the one game they will remember forever. He chokes back tears, and at least for now, you won't wonder if they are real. You eat it up. You feel like you could carry the gym on your back as you explode out of the locker room and onto the field.

"The game flies by as if someone has his hand on the fast-forward button. You take a couple of good hits and give a few back, but nothing hurts. Not on this day. The game goes back and forth and down to the wire, like they always do on Thanksgiving Day. Your team pulls it out at the end, but as you walk off the field, you don't remember much of anything. It's an exhilarating blur. You hug your teammates, you shake a lot of hands, and you pull off the pads and the uniform for the last time. You head home for Thanksgiving dinner, a little sore, a little tired, a little older.

"You'll never get the feeling back you had out there on the field. Next year you will sleep a little later. You'll get in line and buy a ticket and watch the game from the hill. You'll look for your old number, and you'll feel pretty good if the kid can play at all."

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro.