Friday Night Lights, Fading Fast

What happens when a government stops believing in the public?

High school football under the lights. Local kids, local legends, proud parents packed into the bleachers. It’s not just sport—it’s identity. It’s how the South shows up for itself. But those lights might be flickering out—for the grandmother watching from her living room, the crew at Waffle House, the uncle driving his rig across the state—not because the fans stopped coming, but because the institutions that hold us together are being dismantled.

Take a look at who’s behind the camera on game night. In Alabama, it’s public television. APT just wrapped its third season broadcasting the AHSAA Super 7 Championship games, streamed live and over the air, accessible to anyone with a signal. In Georgia, GPB airs Friday night matchups, playoff coverage, and hometown sports stories. These aren’t extras. They’re essentials. They make kids visible, connect communities, and document what matters.

And they’re under threat.

This week, Congress is set to vote on a $500 million cut to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. It’s a targeted strike, pushed by Trump and backed by lawmakers who don’t want a public that can see, hear, or speak for itself. If it passes, local PBS and NPR stations—especially in rural states—lose their lifeline.

That means no more football broadcasts. No more high school championships. No more documentaries on state history or interviews with local leaders. Gone.

And let’s not pretend this is just about media. In the South, this is personal. This is SEC country. Football is a pipeline. It’s how kids get to college, land NIL deals, build futures. But that pipeline depends on visibility. Not every town has boosters. Not every kid has a recruitment team. A public broadcast is often the first time a name is called, the first time a kid realizes they might have a shot.

Cut the station, and you cut off that chance.

The people pushing this can’t produce a serious climate plan. They scoff at science, distrust teachers, and target journalists. What they fear is an informed, connected public. So they go after the systems that still believe in facts, learning, and civic life.

Ken Burns said public media is how America tells its story to itself. He wasn’t just talking about wars and presidents. He meant the places we never see in headlines—town halls, gymnasiums, state parks, public school auditoriums. The places where American life actually happens.

When those stations go dark, the stories disappear.

So yes, this is about football. But it’s also about whether kids from small towns get to be seen. Whether public education still includes culture and history. Whether community storytelling still has a place in a democracy.

The lights are still on. For now.