by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
I belong to a rather futile but harmless group of bleacher bums. We go to every home high school football game, form our little cafe’ of cocoa and fellowship on the 50-yard line, and generally ignore the rest of the game. When our cheerleaders jump over two feet off the ground we assume the Coonridge Carps have scored (which they did most