They say sga-du-gi, and that' s the community. Being a part of a community and doing things that way. (That's) the most important part to me because everybody's working together; everybody's seeing each other and helping each other when they can.-George, 31, Cherokee stickball player O ne is likely to stumble upon a centuries-old tradition tucked away in the mountains of western North Carolina on any given October day. A game once known simply as Indian ball, or in the Cherokee language, anetso, is now more commonly referred to as stickball. This particular October day in 2016 is warmer than usual. It is the week of the 104th Annual Cherokee Indian Fair and most of the community is out to partake in the festivities, from food to entertainment, but more importantly, to socialize. The sun is just about to set as two groups of shirtless, barefoot men march, seemingly out of nowhere, onto the open, unmarked field surrounded by hundreds of spectators. The only signifier of sport on the field are the pairs of saplings on each end, the goals. There is a handful of tourists, but the crowd is mostly native to this land, members of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians. Babies cry, mothers and fathers quibble, and children engage in play, already bored with the lack of action.