The bright Friday night lights of Ralph Holder Stadium cast long shadows across the empty bleachers. The roar of the crowd was gone, replaced by a lonely autumn wind that whistled through the goalposts.

Down on the fifty-yard line, you spot it—the giant, fierce eagle emblem from Belpre’s banners—only now, it’s not fierce at all. Its sharp eye is glistening, tears streaking down its vivid orange feathers. The powerful beak that usually looks ready for battle trembles slightly. The mighty mascot sits slumped on the turf, wings folded tight like it’s shielding itself from the world.

A single tear drops onto the painted white yard marker, mixing with the faint smell of turf and chalk. The silence is heavy, as if the whole stadium is holding its breath with it.

You take a slow step closer, the scoreboard above blinking “00:00” in the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, a flag flaps faintly in the wind—but here, on this field, it’s just you and a broken-hearted Golden Eagle.