"Go Mustangs…" she said softly; gritting her teeth and squeezing her
soft cotton blanket in her delicate hands. She then looked around the stands at
all of the football fans. "Catch that ball!" "What the hell are
you doin'?" "Come on, ref! Are you blind?" "Yeah! Go, go,
go!" Those were the only sounds that pierced the otherwise impenetrable
roar inside the stadium at a college football game. The woman tightened her
scarf, and pulled both sides of her wool cap down over her ears. In one motion,
she raised her eyebrows and stretched out her neck. She was finally able to see
the players on the field over the tall man's head in front of her. Just after
the play began, the man jumped up to his feet and yelled something she did not
understand. "What does that mean, Hon?" She inquired of her
knowledgeable husband. "Oh, he's mad because the quarterback should've
opted to pitch the ball to the runningback instead of tryin' to run it himself.
Our quarterback's like that, though." He explained as simply as he thought
possible. "Oh." She nodded in silent consent, but not complete
comprehension. In fact, she was more confused then than she was before she
asked. She shrugged her shoulders with a sigh and continued to watch the
confusing, violent, loud game with all the enthusiasm she had left. She suddenly
felt a tap on her shoulder and hesitantly turned her head around to see the
bright-eyed face of an elderly woman with her husband. "The uniforms look
nice this year. Don't they dear?" The old woman asked with a big grin on
her wrinkled, but friendly, face. "Especially the band; they look so
pretty." "Yes. Yes, they do." She agreed without looking, and
turned back around as if she had been involved in the football game. Her husband
turned to her swiftly. "Watch number eight; he can open-field tackle like a
pro." Her husband pointed out in an effort to direct her attention from
wherever she was to watching the game. "Which ones are we? Are we in the
green or white?" His chin dropped suddenly and his forehead wrinkled up.
"We've been watching this game for over an hour and you don't know what
team you're rooting for? I don't believe this?" "Sorry. They look all
the same to me." "We're the green, the other team is white. They're
killin' us right now, but we still have a fighting chance if we can just… Hey,
here comes the wave! You gotta get up when the guy comes running by us!" A
young student in a bright green shirt ran across the front of the bleachers
causing everyone to jump out of their seats and throw their arms up in the cold,
foggy air. The student's cheeks glowed bright red and he was out of breath, but
he continued to run back and forth to stir the excitement in the fans. When it
came time for the woman to stand up, she simply raised her arms in the air,
remaining in her seat. The husband fell back into his seat, all the while
screaming. When he calmed down he turned to her, cocked his head to one side and
scrunched the middle of his forehead together. "How come you didn’t stand
up for the wave?" "Because I'm cold and I didn’t want the blanket to
fall on the ground," she explained promptly. "Sorry." "It's
alright," he sighed in disappointment. As the woman began looking around
again at the fans she noticed one young man that had been looking at her
throughout the entire game, as if he were watching her, or wondering what she
was thinking. "I'm too paranoid. That's ridiculous," she thought, and
returned to her blank stare at the players on the field. The bright lights. The
loud band. The noisy fans. The students with their shirts off and faces painted.
The smell of nachos and hot dogs. The shaking of the bleachers from stomping
feet. The atmosphere is indescribable, yet some people just can't get into it. I
don't understand that… but I assume it has something to do with the fact that
I don't understand the large crowds at dog shows, either.