JT Keith
You just do not know who you are yet, or what you truly mean to the people of Artesia.
Right now, the Bulldog Bowl sits in a rare, heavy silence. The orange gates are locked, and the artificial turf—this place that Mack Chase helped to build, a ground soaked in championship tradition, is empty.
We miss you on Friday nights just as much as you miss us. This isn’t a ghost story, though the echoes are there if you listen. This is a love letter to a place that shouldn’t be able to love us back, yet somehow, it does. Every Friday night, the Bulldog Bowl opens its arms and reminds us of who we are.
In this town, Friday night isn’t just a date on a calendar; it’s a shared breath. It is the only event in town. If a robber were looking to commit a crime in Eddy County, Friday night would be the time to do it. The Sheriff is at the Bowl. The Artesia Police Department is at the Bowl. They’d probably just look at the crook and say, “We’ll catch you later, the Dogs are in the red zone.” Or perhaps the crooks love the Bulldogs too much to interrupt the game; they’d likely wait until the final whistle to do their deeds.
The outside of the stadium is beautiful in the moonlight, a quiet fortress waiting for its army. There is a specific “Artesia Orange” that seems to glow differently under the stadium lights than any other color in the world, casting a warm hue against the walls. Under the watchful eye, the players compete beneath the gaze of every state title team; their helmets are mounted on the wall, each marked with the year they brought the trophy home. It’s a reminder that 33 times before, the job was finished—and we are looking for No. 34.
We aren’t just waiting for a game; we are waiting for the community to come back together and greet each other as old friends do. We’re waiting for the players to walk up and down the Winner’s Ramp. We’re waiting to see that massive Capital A—the one that requires four people to steady it, with kids climbing onto shoulders just to hold it high enough for the players to jump up and touch. We want to watch them sprint toward those old-school paper signs the cheerleaders spent hours making—the sound of that paper tearing as the team breaks through and the season finally begins.
We cannot wait for that first Dog Pile of the year. We want to see the fans on both sides cheering as players slide through and jump high, fighting to be at the top of the pile. In that moment, we will finally know that football is back.
Pretty soon, on August 21, we will be here for you, and you will be here for us. We will welcome each other back home to the place where we have created—and will create—so many more memories.
Until then, thank you for waiting. We’ll see you under the lights.
jtkeith can be reached at 575-420-0061, or on X@JTKEITH1.