Tonight,
It’s Personal

Evel Zubiate sits inside a dually pickup truck, towing a hulking smoker. The smoker belongs to the Odessa High School Bronchos booster club and is painted a crisp red with white trim—the school’s colors. It is just past noon on Friday, Oct. 6. The Bronchos football team won’t take the field at Odessa’s iconic Ratliff Stadium for another seven hours. But Zubiate seeks a prime position inside the gates for the booster club’s pregame tailgate.

The gates open and Zubiate drives onto the flat, treeless parking lot, where wind gusts send the ever-present dust swirling through the dry air. He ruminates about the evening’s crosstown rivalry game, which will take place as the sun sets on this West Texas oil town of roughly 100,000 residents. The Bronchos’ opponent, the Permian Panthers, are the formidable high school football team immortalized in the bestselling book Friday Night Lights, written by Buzz Bissinger about their 1988 season and then adapted into a Hollywood movie, which celebrates its 20th anniversary this year, and critically acclaimed TV series.

Ellison grew up in the West Texas town of Whiteface, population 423, and played football at McMurry University in Abilene. He was raised by a single mother and throughout his adolescence was drawn to coaches he saw as father figures. What drives Ellison, who is also Permian’s athletic coordinator, is instilling strong character, principles, and morals in young people. Permian is a predominantly Latino school but has a more racially diverse enrollment and fewer economically disadvantaged students than Odessa High. At Permian, Ellison says, a kid driving a $70,000 truck might line up on the field next to a kid who walks to school. He finds fulfillment in helping students, whether they need someone to talk with about an issue at home, tutoring, or a meal after a game. Athletics and extracurriculars, Ellison says, create a bridge between the students, coaches, and teachers. But, he concedes, “to be able to do all of that, you have to win.”

Ellison calls the game all gas, no brakes—the way a high schooler might play Madden, forgoing punting and employing trickery. With the game tied 7-7, and facing fourth down and four yards to go at the Bronchos’ 45-yard line, Garcia pitches to the Panthers’ slot back, senior Isaac Herrera, who runs toward the sideline. As the Bronchos’ defense converges on Herrera, he cocks his arm and launches a touchdown pass to a wide-open receiver, senior Gage Murphy.

Panthers 14, Bronchos 7.

More back-and-forth scoring ensues, and nearing halftime the Panthers lead 28-21. Desperate to tie the game, Cota drives the Bronchos down to the Panthers’ 7-yard line. Two seconds remain in the half as the Bronchos’ quarterback looks right, searching for senior wide receiver Ivan Carreon, a 6-foot-6-inch four-star college recruit. But a Permian defender bursts through the line and forces Cota to tuck the ball and run. The extended arm of a Permian linebacker catches Cota like a clothesline as he races toward the end zone, lifting the quarterback’s feet off the ground and slamming his back to the turf.

The half expires. Cota stays down.

At a Thursday morning practice on the day before the game, Permian’s head athletic trainer, Morris Williamson, receives a call on his cellphone. On each hand, Williamson proudly wears the two high school state championship rings he won while working as a trainer in the nearby Midland Independent School District. After hanging up, he appears exasperated. “These concussions are driving me nuts,” he says.

Williamson explains that in 2023, there were 21 reports of middle school head injuries from August to late October across three campuses with 150 to 200 kids at each school. That number isn’t abnormal—actually, it’s slightly below average, Williamson says. It seemed whenever a player complained about a headache, a concerned parent called the school. But sometimes the kid was just dehydrated. Out of all the head injury reports, less than 10 of the middle school students were medically diagnosed with concussions. At the varsity football level, the school district had two diagnosed concussions.

Prior to a 2011 Texas state law implementing concussion protocols across public school sports, a coach could put a student athlete back in a game after 15 symptom-free minutes. Today, every Texas school district must form a Concussion Oversight Team, athletic trainers must complete courses in the evaluation and treatment of concussions, and a physician must approve an athlete’s return to play.

Schools are encouraged—not required—to have a neuropsychologist on their oversight teams. But, as Williamson testified during debate of the bill at the Texas Capitol, in rural West Texas a neuropsychologist might live a couple hundred miles away. Borchardt says ECISD has implemented baseline testing for concussion symptoms. Williamson advocates for a commonsense approach: talking with athletes daily, monitoring for mood swings, and slowly reintroducing exercise before donning pads.

Still, some Odessa families have opted out of the district’s football programs in favor of other sports. One dad, Juan Sanchez, told me his son, a 6-foot-1-inch middle schooler, suffered a concussion after colliding with a teammate during a quarterback sack. When his son started seeing hues of red and blue, Sanchez took him to a specialist who diagnosed his son with color blindness. His son switched to cross-country and soccer.

Back at Ratliff, Cota lies on the ground. A Permian player reaches down and gently touches his shoulder pad. Slowly, Cota rises to his knees, stands up, and walks to the locker room on his own accord. Ellison ushers the Permian players off the field. The coach doesn’t necessarily view football as violent—instead, he says, it’s a contact sport in which athletes must learn to channel controlled aggression. Ellison says his program prioritizes player safety, proper technique, and quality equipment. When it comes to teaching teenagers about accountability, work ethic, and a common bond in pursuit of a team goal, he argues the rewards of high school football outweigh the well-documented risk of injury.

Ellison addresses his players inside the home team locker room beneath the stadium while the Panthers coaching staff huddles outside in a dimly lit concrete walkway. Wearing black pants and black polos, they draw X’s and O’s on a small dry-erase board and try to figure out how to beat the Bronchos.

The stats behind the score

The final quarter begins. The Panthers are on offense at the Bronchos’ 32-yard line, facing fourth down and 26 long yards for a first down. The Bronchos blitz their middle linebacker, who Lara blocks, giving Garcia time to heave a pass toward the end zone. Murphy catches the ball in stride.

The Panthers lead by two touchdowns: 35-21.

“We’ve been in worse situations,” a Bronchos coach encourages his players on the sideline. “We know their formations. We just need to execute and make plays.”

Another coach implores the Bronchos wide receivers: “When the safety holds on Ivan, stay vertical!” Carreon, who stands close to 6 feet, 9 inches in cleats and a helmet, started playing football in second grade. He’s always been one of the biggest and fastest kids. He even received mentorship from 1999 Permian graduate Roy Williams, who played wide receiver for the Texas Longhorns and Dallas Cowboys.

In elementary school, Carreon played on the Junior Bronchos youth football team and has always wanted to play for Odessa High. The Bronchos’ pass-oriented offense better suits him, but more importantly, he wants to help Odessa High break the current losing streak to Permian, which began when he was only 9 years old.

On the ensuing series, Cota finds Carreon on a slant pass. One Permian defender dives for Carreon’s legs, and two others grasp at his shoulder pads. Carreon tumbles on top of a Permian player—but he doesn’t appear to touch the ground. The Panthers seem confused that Carreon wasn’t called down, as he gets up and sprints 70 yards for a touchdown. The Bronchos pull within one touchdown: 35-28.

On the Bronchos’ next possession, Cota spots Carreon one-on-one against a defensive back in the corner of the end zone and throws a jump ball. Carreon reaches over the Permian defender’s helmet to make the catch. On the game’s broadcast, livestreamed by ECISD and replayed Sunday night on CBS7, the announcer says, “You just can’t teach height.” The Bronchos tie the game 35-35.

Carreon will be the first in his immediate family to attend college. Some of his friends have suggested he study business at the University of Oklahoma. He could come back to Odessa and start his own oil company. “The oil is always going to be there,” Carreon says. “And it’s always going to be doing good.”

Most of the men in Carreon’s family work as project managers in the oil patch, including his dad, who reminds his son that a degree could open many doors. He’s encouraged him to think beyond Odessa. Carreon recites his dad’s advice: “You don’t need to come back here and work in the oil field.”

With just over four minutes remaining in the game, Permian feeds Lara. The 5-foot-10-inch, 185-pound running back takes the ball at midfield and slices through the Bronchos’ defense for a 52-yard touchdown. Lara, who will finish the game with 248 yards on 22 carries, is an academic all-state selection who hasn’t attracted much Division I college attention. He’s committed to the University of Texas Permian Basin, a rising Division II program in Odessa. Permian leads 42-35.

The Bronchos get the ball and embark on a methodical drive that runs down the game clock. With 11 seconds left, senior receiver Izek Lujan makes a diving grab in the end zone.

Permian and Odessa High go to overtime: 42-42.

Borchardt walks down onto the field, her wavy blond hair fluttering in the cool breeze. She cracks a wide smile. What a show! Hundreds of students have been involved in the production of the game—all of them, from the band conductors to the student newspaper reporters, gaining life and potential career experience.

Borchardt started as a Permian Pepette—a female spirit squad member elected by the student body to help summon the MOJO. But she began her professional career as a teacher and coach on the city’s west side, ultimately at Odessa High. “I thought, I’ll bring my MOJO over there,” she says. She applied for the district’s athletic director position 13 years prior and was told she had all the qualifications, except she’d never coached a football team. “Then give me a football team,” she responded. “I’ll guarantee I can go find 15 guy coaches who will work for me.”

Borchardt didn’t get the AD job then, and she didn’t think she’d ever want to consider the district’s top athletic position again. But during the pandemic, with Odessa schools facing a dire staffing shortage, a new superintendent, Scott Muri, took ECISD in a new direction. Muri made teacher salaries among the most competitive in the state, abating the staffing crisis and raising the district’s standardized test scores across almost every grade and subject. When the AD position opened up, Borchardt moved into the role.

Permian parents now embrace the slogan “MOJO makes all professions possible.” During a pregame tailgate for the school’s cheerleaders, Jaime Garza, an electrician for an oil company, wears a “Cheer Dad” T-shirt. His daughter, the captain of the cheer team, is second in her class. His son had been Permian’s valedictorian. “Those days of being state 6A champion are long gone,” Garza says. The last time the Panthers advanced to the top eight of the Texas high school football playoffs was 1998. Yet, Garza feels football still impacts academic decisions. Despite overcrowded AP classes, he says, “No one wants to pass a bond to build another high school because they want Permian to remain 6A.”

Throughout the game, a promotion for the upcoming bond election plays over the PA system. The district has backed away from building a new high school in east Odessa, where it would draw from Permian’s team while angering Odessa High parents who wondered why the wealthier part of town was getting a new school. Instead, the district is proposing a downtown career training and technical campus to serve both schools’ students, as well as provide night classes for adults.

A separate bond proposal asks voters to approve funding for an indoor sports facility at Odessa High. In 2006, the Panthers’ booster club used private donations to construct a 35,937-square-foot indoor practice field at Permian. Meanwhile, the Bronchos still hold almost all their practices outside. In the week leading up to the game, inclement weather forced the Bronchos to cancel two practices. Ortiz says his players are “treated like they’re second best.” (A month later, Oritz’s comments are underscored when the athletic bond fails while the new campus bond passes.)

Ortiz had long dreamed of serving a school like Odessa High, comprising children of working people. He understands what it would mean to the kids on the west side of town to go home tonight “knowing they’re the best high school football team in Odessa.”

The game’s overtime period begins with each team possessing the ball 25 yards out from the end zone. The first team to score, without being matched by the other, wins the game. Permian starts on offense. As the Odessa High defense prepares to take the field, Ortiz instructs them, “Take the ball away.”

On the Odessa High sideline, a student trainer scrubs at a bloodstain on a player’s white pant leg, trying to get him back in the game. On the Permian sideline, players wave their arms at the crowd, inciting cries of MOJO, MOJO to ear-ringing decibels. A helmetless player holds a bag of ice to his head and poses for a selfie with his teammates. A coach yells, “Stay locked in!”

The Panthers line up with two running backs, Herrera in the right slot and Lara in the backfield. Garcia fakes to Lara then pitches to Herrera, who cuts up the left hash. At the 20-yard line, Herrera, wearing bright pink gloves, crashes into a swarm of Bronchos. Defensive lineman Daniel Garcia grabs Herrera from behind and swings his arm at the ball, knocking it loose. Standing outside the scrum, Lara watches the ball bounce across the turf. He dives toward it, but the ball deflects off his hand—right into the chest of a Bronchos player.

Knowing a field goal will win the game, the Bronchos play it safe. Senior running back Dae Dae Green rushes left for 10 yards—then left again to the 8-yard line. For a third consecutive play, Cota hands off to Green. Again, Green sprints for the left corner. Three Panthers defenders pursue him. Green nears the goal line, extending the ball toward the orange pylon. The Panthers shove him out of bounds.

“He was out, right?” a Permian student trainer asks.

A referee raises both his arms. Touchdown. The Bronchos rush the field. Final score: 49-42. The upset is complete, and Christian Zubiate earns the bragging rights his dad, Evel, never did.

The Panthers solemnly walk toward the student section. A mass of swaying black jerseys, they link arms and stand in front of their peers as the band plays the school song.

In the field house at the Panthers’ school, the hallway leading to the practice field is a shrine. Team pictures from every class dating to 1959 adorn the walls. Dozens of names, All-Americans and NFL players, are listed in the Hall of Honor. Trophies line the shelves. Life-size images from the movie are painted onto the walls. The space often provides inspiration. But the success of previous generations can also feel like a ghost watching over each successive team.

The Bronchos players seek out their families, gathering in hugs. They recognize their teachers in the stands and wave proudly. Carreon finds his peewee coach and poses for a photo.

Eventually, the students on the best high school football team in Odessa, and the students on the most famous high school football team in the world, head home, reminiscing about a night they’ll never forget.

Above Ratliff Stadium, in the blink of an eye, the bright lights switch off.