I have been to the very edge of reason. I've teetered on its slick precipice and stared my own death in the face, and I'm sad to report: Death has a fauxhawk. I was recently at what many analysts considered "the game of the week": Number 8 TCU at Number 16 BYU, when I discovered what a true fan is, or rather, isn't.
My entrance to the stadium was nothing short of a miracle, finagling my way past security with a student ticket though I am not a student of either university. I was merely in Provo, Utah on a whim and decided to make the most of the evening by trying to gain entrance to a nationally broadcast football event.
Getting inside was actually the easy part– trying to meet up with some friends in the undulating mass of screaming students was now my impossible task. This is because the arena staff of LaVell Edwards Stadium is a very different breed of security.
Most security guards have to crack down on riotous drunks who, awash in spirits, curse, spit and punch there way through every home game win or lose. The staff are prepared for riots and human crushes and whatever else the crafty students might throw their way. BYU's student body is much tamer, and one can get themselves expelled from an athletic event simply for swearing (no joke). So when someone is found in the wrong seat, and they do check, they will be escorted to their proper receptacle. This is a lesson I learned the hard way after leaving my section, a double-lettered portal behind the goalposts where all the numbers on my ticket added up to well over 200, to join my friends who were just a cozy thirteen rows behind the Cougar sideline.
I reconnoitered the area and, waiting for a big play on the field, jumped the railing and cruised up to row 14 while the staff was otherwise disposed. I slinked through the tightly packed squeeze of wet ponchos and big coats, found my friends and popped down to claim my spot on row 13.
It was at this point that the game got truly interesting. Max Hall, who can barely be considered a quarterback, managed to get the ball to the four-yard line. It was second and goal and the scoreless Cougars were desperate to get on the board. My friends and I erupted into the loudest volley of supportive cheers we could muster when some grizzly youth with a fauxhawk and an orange coat began hushing the crowd. Undeterred, I continued to make as much noise as I could, until he pointed at me and told me personally quiet down.
The game of American football is nothing like tennis. But to this young brute with a terrible haircut, any and all noise was to be discouraged so that, "they can hear the snap count." In an accusatory (if not condescending) tone, he asked me if I had ever played football before, citing that audibles and snaps couldn't be heard because of our close proximity and loud volume.
I reminded him that perhaps Max Hall's 11 interceptions this season could be attributed to his inability to perform in loud venues, and perhaps we should give him some friendly practice at it. Third down and four and somehow, despite the noise I continued to offer, Hall connected with running back Harvey Unga for a touchdown. BYU would never again get into the end zone.
BYU's "fans" were so disappointed that the stadium was reduced to half-capacity by the middle of the third quarter. By the start of the fourth, the 60,000 seat stadium was nearly empty. I'm not crazy about either team, but after all the effort I went through to get inside the stadium, I wasn't going to leave until the fat lady sang.
I was so disappointed with the fans of BYU, that I want to find the craziest, rowdiest, most dedicated fans on the planet. I want to hear your opinions on what school has the greatest fans on earth. Put your stories in the comments and help me restore my faith in fandom.
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