I did something very unusual last Friday. I attended a high school football game.

Doesn’t sound unusual on its face, of course. But this one was, at least for me.

For the first time in more than a decade, I actually bought a ticket to a high school game. I wasn’t there to write about it, take photos, fill in as a clock operator, or holler into a public-address microphone.

I took a day off to make a dash up to Bowling Green, Ky., where Glasgow High School, my alma mater, was playing in the Russell Athletic Commonwealth Gridiron Bowl Class 2A state championship in the stadium of my college alma mater, Western Kentucky University.

It was strange at first, walking up to the ticket booth and handing over real American currency. Those of you who know me will know how hard that was. I’m about one-fourth Scottish, so I’m chea— uh, thrifty by nature.

I walked into a lower deck filled with fans clad in blue, about 5,000 who had made the 32-mile trek from Glasgow westward on the Louie B. Nunn Cumberland Parkway. The fans were already chanting, and the band — in full Scottish regalia, as the good Lord intended — was blaring away, as the team warmed up for their chance to make history with a 15-0 perfect season.

Suddenly, I felt naked. I realized that I was wearing no press credentials. A classmate who owns the local radio station offered me his; I thanked him, but passed.

The game got under way, and things looked good for the Scotties early on. Tailback Jalen Sublett burst through a hole in the middle of the line and dashed 29 yards for the first touchdown, and it looked like they would take care of Covington Holy Cross as easily as they had dispatched 14 other foes this season.

Suddenly, it really hit me: I’m not working, so I can actually cheer. I didn’t have to maintain any objectivity. I could scream my head off if I wanted.

It took a little while, but when Sublett broke free, it came easily.

It came even easier a bit later on when the officials made an absolutely boneheaded call, and it was at that precise moment that I remembered something which I had filed away in the deep recesses of my memory.

As much as I dearly, truly love my home state, the great Commonwealth of Kentucky, I suddenly realized that after all the years I’ve been away, one thing hasn’t changed: Their high school football officials really stink.

At one point in the second quarter, a wide receiver and a cornerback battled for a catch, and the officials threw a flag for a face-mask call. At first they called it on the Glasgow defender and marked it off, then they changed their mind and called it on the Holy Cross receiver and marched 30 yards the other way. And then, they changed their minds again and went back to the original call.

Those guys couldn’t call park ball here. But their basketball refs are better, so it evens out.

The game turned against the Scotties, whose bid for the undefeated season went down by a 33-14 score. Holy Cross quarterback Kyle Fuller showed an incredible knack for escaping pressure and making the big pass, and Glasgow couldn’t answer. Such is football.

The loss was tough, especially since the Scotties have a thing about reaching the title game but not being able to win it all. It’s happened four times in the last 15 or so years. I suffocated my sorrows in food I can only get in Kentucky, such as Lee’s Famous Recipe fried chicken, Culver’s frozen custard and White Castle sliders. It was a good excuse.

I hated to see Glasgow lose, but it was good to see many friends that I’ve missed, and an important reminder of what it is to be a fan — something we sports journalists tend to forget.