Feb. 22, 2008
This is Different...This is Georgetown
The temperature is twenty-five degrees (-4 Celsius if you prefer) and the gusting wind has blown my jacket's hood off my head so many times I've given up trying.
Fittingly, I'm standing outside of a stadium named for a company that manufactures air conditioners.
By my count, I've seen Hoya basketball games at thirteen venues across the country that do not have a Georgetown logo at center court. I've been to on-campus holes, big city NBA arenas, a military academy, and even a converted football stadium once before. I've been heckled and cursed at by drunk idiots, swallowed up by the cheers of tens of thousands of fans wearing a color other than Blue or Gray, run to a waiting bus after a close win as if I was fleeing a crime scene, and felt incredibly small amongst more than 50,000 fans at the Final Four. I'd like to think I'm somewhat experienced in dealing with intimidating venues.
Never until this weekend though had I felt as if an entire city was out to get me.
In the 375 miles I drove on Friday night between Northern Virginia and Syracuse, NY the temperature dropped 40 degrees. As I crested the final hill before making my descent into downtown Syracuse--the first sign of civilization on I-81 since Binghamton--the very first structure I saw at the end of a long straight stretch of highway was the Carrier Dome.
At this moment, it started to snow.
The following morning, I dug my car out from under three fresh inches of powder and ice and set off for Manley Field House--which, contrary to popular Georgetown legend, is still open provided (a) you are willing to pay $10 to park there on a game day; or (b) you play field hockey for Syracuse University.
Twenty eight years ago last week Manley played host to one of the great games in the history of the Big East Conference--Georgetown's 52-50 win over the #2 ranked Orangemen that produced John Thompson's famous line. These days, it's a shuttle bus stop on the way to Syracuse's new place up the street. It's also the last place (as of when I type this sentence) that I have seen the sun.
Three Carrier Dome ticket scanners stand against the wall a few feet away from me in front of Gate N, taking a quick cigarette break. They're oddly calm amidst a thundering herd of Orange-clad partisans waiting to storm into the Dome--whose lobby, at least at Gate N, can accommodate exactly three members of each line. Predictably, I'm fourth...and freezing. It occurs to me that Syracuse must have adopted the color orange because it is the only way residents could see each other against a gray sky and driving snow.
The ticket scanners--none of whom, I should note, is wearing a jacket--all look like they could have worked the door at Manley Field House. Lest I think I've got nothing in common with folks who remember the Dave Bing era, their first topic of conversation concerns how to avoid having to take the Capital Beltway when driving south past Washington, DC. Hey, I was there 20 hours and 36 degrees ago!
The youngest member of the conversation--who still probably remembers when Jim Boeheim had hair--scans the mob assembled on the patio and wonders how many fans are showing up this afternoon.
This makes her Supervisor angry. As I learn, his talent is an uncanny ability to predict the attendance at each Syracuse home game--he picks a number representing the tens of thousands of fans that will show up to a game, and sure as Syracuse is playing a 2-3 zone defense, he gets it right. He's angry because for the Orange's previous home game against UConn, he'd guessed 21,000 fans and a shade over 23,000 showed up.
"How many you think'll be here today," the young lady asks.
"31,000 today I think," the Supervisor fires back with an air of confidence.
She's unconvinced. "That many? On an afternoon like this?"
The Supervisor is certain though.
"Yup, we got Georgetown coming in here today."
Don is checking tickets for Section 317 today. He's from the old-school when it comes to being an usher--relentlessly polite (he'll give you detailed directions to your seat), inquisitive (he wants to know where you're visiting from today), friendly (yes you can take a picture of your friends with him and the police officer), and a touch forgetful (he'll give you directions to your seat on three different occasions).
Don has probably been doing this since the Carrier Dome opened too. During that long career, Don tells a few of the 190-member Hoya Blue contingent spread out between Sections 316 and 317, this is the largest collection of opposing fans he has ever seen up here.
It's a nice view from the purported nosebleeds. Unlike my vertigo-inducing experience at the Georgia Dome last March, I find myself enjoying the sightlines immensely from Section 317 Row N. The Carrier Dome layout sets the actual basketball court far away from the bottom of each end zone section, and combined with the relatively shallow grade of the upper deck, it produces excellent views from just about anywhere within eyesight.
I'm thoroughly enjoying my view of the veritable carnival going on behind the portable stands that form the "fourth wall" of the Dome seating area. On the remainder of unused football surface are set up countless merchandise booths, food stands selling SuperPretzels, a VIP reception tent, and the obligatory radio station-sponsored money machine. Fans holding boxes of popcorn file past a circle of cheerleaders stretching to bid on a table full of Syracuse memorabilia at auction.
Once the game begins though, it's clear Hoya Blue has exposed the Carrier Dome's one glaring "design flaw"--it's impossible to see over anybody who stands in front of you. Unfortunately old habits from home games die hard, and the entirety of the Georgetown student contingent occupies the high-letter rows in 316 and 317 and is determined to stand for the entire game. Don is in over his head.
Syracuse fans are nothing if not clever when it comes to strategies for dealing with intruders. After a few minutes of cursing at every gray-clad young'n in site doesn't pan out, one shrill old bag of a lady shares her idea--honed evidently during her long teaching career-- for the most efficient way to convince 190 uncooperative students to sit down. Hoping to start a chain reaction of sitting from the back of the section, she sneers relentlessly and in the most condescending way possible, punctuating each line (and derogatory name) by snapping her fingers, at the nearest Georgetown fan she can find.
That would be me.
I wish I'd bummed a cigarette off the Supervisor.
The Supervisor returns to form on this day--the final attendance figure for Georgetown vs. Syracuse is 31,327 fans, the largest crowd to see a college basketball game this season. All but about 190 go home happy.
Of all the Big East venues I've visited, the Carrier Dome is the most intimidating, and it really isn't close. The Dome offers one advantage no other college basketball facility can match--size. There isn't a chance in the world that 31,327 fans aren't going to sound loud and be visually intimidating, particularly in the face of 26-4 runs. That I was the scapegoat for a student section's decision to stand and block the view of a few 10 year-olds (they cursed me out too) didn't help things.
It's more than the size though--it's the little traditions like standing up until Syracuse's first basket, the time-honored traditions like making life hell for opposing fans (HOYA SUXA signs abound), and the intense desire to beat a Top Ten opponent that made Saturday a particularly long day in the life of a Hoya fan a long way from home.
Even in a crowd of 190 Georgetown fans, it still feels pretty lonely when the seconds tick down on a loss like this one.
It seems like each time the Hoyas and Orange get together lately, somebody is compelled to post a thread on the HoyaTalk message board questioning whether Georgetown vs. Syracuse is still a rivalry.
The answers myself and my fellow bloggers Mike Karam and Tom Wong gave to The Hoya's blog (The Saxa) last week make it pretty clear where we come down on the issue.
In response to a question about what the GTown-Cuse "rivalry" was like when I was a student, I cited a story from my sophomore year (2001-2002). In a nationally-televised Big Monday contest, Georgetown defeated the #14 Orange 75-60 (the "Preston's Crying" game for those who were there). After the game--which featured two teams destined to miss the NCAA Tournament and which wasn't competitive for the final 18 minutes of play--the Georgetown student section stormed the court for the second consecutive season after beating the Orange.
There was no real reason for anyone to feel compelled to rush the court. None of the standard "rules" (if you will) for rushing the court applied--Syracuse wasn't ranked highly enough, Georgetown was probably too good for the win to be considered an upset, and unlike the previous season's February triumph at MCI the 2002 contest didn't put the Hoyas over the top in their quest for an NCAA Tournament berth. It was just a normal game.
Lots of anti-court rushing sentiment popped up on the HoyaTalk board that night. For some reason--that I completely understand to this day--I felt compelled to respond with a lengthy defense punctuated by one single, powerful six-word line:
This is different. This is Syracuse.
Not exactly Manley Field House is officially closed, but meaningful to me nonetheless.
Funny enough, the very same debate occurred after Saturday's game on the website of the Syracuse Post-Standard. If you scroll through about a dozen comments, one "DeweyCNY" offers the following:
No, Georgetown isn't ranked # 1 in the country. No, It wasn't a title game. But it's the freakin' Hoyas! We HATE them.
I was 1 of 31,327 at the Carrier Dome last Saturday, and I couldn't agree more.
Take a look at the picture below and try to tell me you don't too.
John Hawkes (SFS '04)
Proud Member of Generation Burton
