Through years of hot summers, cold winters and all the rainy nights in between - not to mention an explicit attempt to cover it up - the yellow foundation still remains visible.
Nothing, not time, nor weather, could adversely change what is ineradicable in this small Louisiana town, and the meaning of it stretches far beyond the multi-colored concrete, metal and wood of this high school football stadium.
The remnants can be seen in every corner, underneath all of the steps and scattered throughout Baucum-Farrar Stadium. The uneven black brush strokes are nothing more than an invitation to look past what is now, to see what has always been and why it's all a reflection of the people that make up this community of less than 5,000 people.
This is where Kansas City Chiefs running back Charcandrick West first made a name for himself, both because of what he was able to do on the field and also because of everything he went through to find his way back under those indelible Friday night lights.
It's the epitome of a true underdog story, and the way in which West has carried himself through a myriad of ups and downs gives us insight into the man behind that million-dollar smile.
Back in 2011, a year after West had graduated from Springhill High School, this small Louisiana community that's located about 50 miles north of Shreveport in the northwest part of the state, went through a major and much-needed change.
They combined four of the local high schools into one.
West, who grew up in Cullen, which sits just to the south of Springhill and has a population of about a thousand people, was a member of the last class that would ever graduate from Springhill High School.
The new school, which is called North Webster, is located in the old Springhill building and uses all of the same facilities as the school that preceded it, including the football stadium. The colors of the school are no longer yellow and black representing the Springhill Lumberjacks, but rather purple and black for the North Webster Knights.
The football stadium, which had been primarily painted yellow, was repainted black when the schools combined.
It was changed in an attempt to move forward, but much like those who live here, the foundation will forever be the same.
The water tower, which stands only a few hundred feet from the north end zone, is one of the last remaining untouched symbols of Springhill High School.
Six black beams hold up the fainted yellow circular tower that shows a grizzly Lumberjack with crossing axes behind him and the words "Springhill Lumberjacks" outlining the display.
It's one of just a handful of reminders that are left, although it wasn't the first major change to this community.
He's still Moosey when he comes home. He's not Mr. NFL or anything here. He's still just Moosey."
Longtime family friend, Lonnie O'Neal
Four decades earlier, the International Paper Mill Company, which had about a thousand local employees, closed.
The effects were devastating.
The town lost more than 30 percent of its population just a couple of years after the mill closed, and to this day, it still hasn't fully recovered. Most of the buildings near the old mill are empty and abandoned, casting a light on just how quickly things can change in a small town.
One of the businesses that does remain is Zach's Barber Shop, which sits directly across the street from the old mill. Zach's is where West had his first haircut as a kid and where he still goes to this day.
While the football stadium, locker room, school and businesses near the school, such as the donut shop across the street where kids will still try and sneak off to in order to grab a snack in between classes, remain structurally the same, there's a different look to them.
But for those who grew up here, it will always feel the same.
West, who calls this small community home, is affectionately known around town as "Moosey," a nickname given to him by his maternal grandmother, or 'Nana,' as he calls her, because "he was big, like a moose." For "Moosey," this place is always going to be the same, and that's why it's special to him.
"I love coming home because I don't get treated any different," he explained.
West, who is coming off a breakout season with the Chiefs, can't stand for five minutes out in the open of his hometown without a car honking and someone yelling for him as they go driving by.
"He's still Moosey when he comes home," Lonnie O'Neal, a longtime family friend, said. "He's not Mr. NFL or anything here. He's still just Moosey."
West means something to these people, as evidenced by the sudden increase in Chiefs fans in the community and all of the No. 35 shirts being worn about town.
It's a love and respect that is reciprocated across everyone in town regardless of age, sex or race. Those who grew up watching "Moosey" shine as a kid only feel pride for what he's doing now, and he does everything in his power to pay it forward to those in the community.
When you ask those who have known him the longest, they'll all say the same thing. They know the real "Moosey," and they love him.
From signing with the Chiefs as an undrafted rookie free agent in 2014 and being a part-time special teams player after beginning the season on the practice squad, to starting in the playoffs and getting a contract extension less than a year later, it has been a whirlwind for West and his family over the past year.
What makes it truly special is they saw this whole amazing story from the beginning, and it has been anything but an easy ride - starting with West overcoming a serious illness in high school that could have taken his life, later switching colleges after one day of workouts, then losing a mentor only a few months before shining for the whole world to see.
Just north of the football stadium and up a concrete walkway covered with rubber matting to protect players from slipping because of their cleats sits a white metal building with purple doors.
When you walk inside, the only thing noticeably different today from a decade ago is the color of the walls. The wooden lockers line the walls of this small room with a couple of rows through the middle, cutting off any extra space there might be to walk around. Shoulder pads sit on top of the lockers with cleats, sparingly dispersed inside the two cubby holes each player is provided.
The space is limited and there's no more than is absolutely needed, and that's always been enough for West.
West's High School locker room
"We aren't used to all the cultures and all of that," West explained while sitting in his old high school locker. "We had a mop bucket to ice our ankles. That's what we grew up on - mop buckets and coach (Gray) Haynes taping our ankles before the game while we were sitting up on trash cans.
"I don't need much, but just coming from this, I think it makes you a better person."
There's not a lot of money flowing through this small community, which led to many of West's childhood teammates making decisions that either led them to jail or worse.
From the time he was in middle school, West had to deal with losing friends and people he was close with to violence.
"A lot of his classmates made poor decisions, and he had another one of his classmates recently who was put in jail," Haynes, his high school coach, along with O'Neal, someone he still talks to almost daily, explained. "He's seen those guys that made those poor decisions, and he sees the outcomes.
"I think that drives him to make better decisions - to always think about what he's doing and make sure that it's the right thing."
"We all had big dreams," West, who was one of just 21 players on his high school football team as a junior, explained of those he grew up with. "I had a bunch of friends. I probably wasn't even the most talented one. I had some guys that could play some ball, but I had people like coach Haynes [and] my friend Ian in my corner. My parents - a bunch of people that kept me on a straight path."
Coming from such a small town, it would have been hard for West to get away with anything.
"You can't do anything here," West explained. "It's a small community. If I go out and steal a piece of bubble gum at the store, by time I get home, my mom is going to already know."
As West sits in his living room and tells his story, he's flanked by both of his parents on the couch with his two sisters and nana hanging out in the kitchen.
His mother, Demetrice, doesn't necessarily have the same outgoing demeanor around strangers as her son, who is always smiling. She sits with her arms crossed, quiet, seemingly assessing the situation.
The juxtaposition of the two is obvious.
Demetrice has always been protective of her son, and she's undoubtedly the boss of the family. There's really no other way to put it.
Demetrice West, Charcandrick West and Toccara Ford
His stepfather, Toccara Ford, who sits on the other side of West on the couch, was a police officer when West was in high school. That, combined with the fact that he's over 6 feet 5 inches tall and 300 pounds, and you begin to understand there was a reason West was always on the straight and narrow.
It's "Yes, ma'am" or "No, sir" around their household, and their relationship couldn't be closer.
"There's not a day that I wake up and don't call them," West explained of his mom and nana. "I can't go to sleep without calling and telling them goodnight."
Ford and one of his closest friends, Dante Coleman, were the reason West first got into football as a kid.
West's biological father isn't in the picture, and it took some convincing from Ford, who started dating Demetrice when West was just a kid, to let him on the field.
She was comfortable with him playing baseball, but football was another story.
Ford and Coleman eventually convinced Demetrice to let him play, although the first experience West had didn't go exactly as planned.
His first team was the Vikings when he was in fourth grade - a grade he would take twice because his mother felt "he was slacking" on his first attempt.
Despite West passing the leap test and teachers saying he could move on to fifth grade, she wasn't having it and made him do the year over again, a decision that caused a rift between her and nana.
"My mom wasn't speaking to me for a while after that," Demetrice, who said with a laugh, as nana was in the other room, not laughing. It's fair to say nana strongly disagreed with West being held back a year.
West's tenure with the Vikings was over before he ever played a game for them, although he did make it to picture day. The mistake that cost him his first year of football is something we'll only categorize as childish and harmless, but it was enough for Demetrice to delay the start of his career.
The year away from organized football wasn't easy for West, who was a standout on the baseball field at the time.
Once he finally got on the football field and was able to stay on the team long enough to play a game, everything would change, and it didn't take long for Demetrice to recognize the talent.
Ford and Coleman were running a two-back system, utilizing spread formations and a lot of other things nobody in this small town, particularly with kids at this age, had seen before.
In two years at the Pee Wee level playing for Coleman's team, the Cowboys, West never lost a game, and it's at that point they all saw something special in him.
Nobody could really catch him. If you gave him the ball around the corner, he was gone. It was six."
West's stepfather, Toccara Ford
"Nobody could really catch him," Ford explained. "If you gave him the ball around the corner, he was gone. It was six."
Seeing West's already impressive speed, Ford and Coleman began training West to see how good he could become. They didn't have a lot of money, so they had to make do with whatever they could find to use as training equipment.
Ford cut a hole in a tire and put a rope through it and then around West's waist, and he would have him run around the yard, dragging the tire through the grass. There was a significant amount of space just outside of their house, big enough for an entire football field, which lent itself well to training a future NFL running back.
When West got a little older, Ford went to the high school and asked to borrow and fix up some of the old sleds that nobody was using. They did everything they could to feed the appetite West was developing for improving his strength and speed.
In addition to all of the physical training, Ford mixed in some football drills as well.
They had a game they'd play in which Ford would throw West 100 footballs every day.
"Each one you drop, that's going to be 10 pushups," Ford would tell West. "You're either going to be a heck of a receiver or a really strong linebacker."
Before he ever got to the high school field, the buzz surrounding "Moosey" was palpable around town. Everyone saw him training and running around the community, which, at the time, had some people snickering about all the work he was doing.
But the nice, humble, young kid could have been the greatest athlete in the world, and it still wouldn't have prepared him for the battle he was about to face.