It is a drive, and then a walk, into Americana.

First comes the hill climb on one of the side streets to the immediate south of the old Livermore Falls High School. Four-wheel drive and a relatively recent oil change help.

Then there’s the trick of parking said vehicle without blocking a neighbor’s driveway. Arrive at least 30 minutes early on a game night and this step might leave you within a quarter-mile of your destination.

After this, follow the wafting aroma of French fries, cheeseburgers and hot chocolate to what is, for my money, the best and most efficient concession stand in all of Maine high school sports. Take it from a lifelong carbohydrate fiend: There’s no danger of getting lost.

Buy your ticket, grab your program and find standing room along the rope if you can. Watch the marching band stand at attention near the 20-yard line on the far side of the field.

Over the murmur of the anxious, bipartisan crowd, hear the mesmerizing, telltale sound of cleats colliding with pavement as the football team trudges with purpose down the hill that travels at a 45-degree angle behind the gridiron.

Band breaks into the rousing alma mater that shares its tune with a thousand other high schools across the fruited plain — the faithful know every word. Coach claps his hands together and hollers one final exhortation. Team breaks into a full sprint, forming six or seven lanes of traffic around its leader and rushes onto the muddy grass to a throaty roar.

Yes, it’s a ritual that is repeated at hundreds of well-illuminated haunts every autumn Friday night in America. There’s a book, movie and television series devoted to it. Kenny Chesney crafted a song about it of which I’m sick to death.

By my count, I’ve experienced this pageantry at every school in Maine suiting up a varsity football team and owning bulbs, and you’ll have to take my word for it: There was something special about the way Livermore Falls High School and its Andies celebrated that exercise in school and community pride four, perhaps five times every year.

It’s a borderline religious experience that died, on some level, with so many other historical and athletic traditions when Livermore Falls consolidated with neighbor and nemesis Jay prior to the 2011-12 school year.

Oh, it still happens, on paper. The Spruce Mountain High School football program birthed from that marriage of convenience wisely chose Griffin Field at dearly departed LFHS as its home facility. The two have become one, and they still make the long march down that hill to the 120-by-53-yard flatland where the magic happens.

The burgers still sizzle. The lights still illuminate every speck of dust or raindrop. The crowd still roars. But if you have any affiliation with Livermore Falls High School and didn’t blink your eyes twice or even brush away a tear when you first gazed into the distance and saw black uniforms instead of green ones, and green numerals where gold or white ones used to be, and the logo of a mythical bird instead of a lumberjack affixed to the helmets, well, perhaps you no longer have a pulse.

Thanks to Spruce Mountain High School South Campus teacher Ken Landry and his publishing class, those who fancy themselves forever an Andie will have one, final chance to get that heart racing.

As part of a documentary aimed at preserving the history of LFHS, students have invited every living coach and player from the school’s history to meet at Griffin Field on Saturday night. Varsity jackets, pullovers and any other green-and-gold apparel in your closet, no matter how ratty or ill-fitting, is encouraged.

“Football has always been a huge thing in Livermore Falls,” student Kasey Richards said. “We are hoping to get as many people as possible, considering this will be a huge part of our documentary.”

At 7:30 p.m., with legendary coach and resident historian Ron Beedy and fellow coaches Jim Hersom and Brad Bishop leading the way, that mass of players will descend the hill, break the huddle and run onto the playing surface one final time.

As Andies, in perpetuity.

“It is going to be a very touching night, even for the many community members who are just coming to watch,” Richards said.

For those who think that is contrary to the conventional wisdom that the good people of Livermore Falls and Jay need to pursue unity in all things instead of dwelling upon the past, phooey.

How often in everyday life do we hear the cry to embrace our heritage? Never forget from where you came. Honor those who built the traditions you enjoy.

When we allow history to die, it never comes back. In a football context, if both halves of a consolidated community are told to swallow their pride and then the current coach instructs the modern players to break a huddle with “pride, on three,” he might as well as be talking to a brick wall.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with the tradition that the Spruce Mountain Phoenix strive to build. It’s good, and right. But it left generations of football players as men without a country, in many ways. And so there is also nothing wrong with identifying as Andies, or Tigers, now and forever.

Saturday night. 7:30 p.m. Go. Hug. High-five. Reminisce. Celebrate.

It’s the only American thing to do.

Kalle Oakes is a staff columnist. His email is [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter @Oaksie72.