The Ohio State University football game against Iowa on Sept. 24 was a new experience for me. It was the first game I watched at the Horseshoe. It was also the first Buckeye's game I attended that they actually won - I watched them lose an ugly game at Purdue in 2004. Although the actual kickoff was around noon, the festivities began early in the morning.
I got to Columbus at 7 a.m. and proceeded to wander the streets, looking for something interesting. I walked into the McDonald's on High Street and found it relatively full during a pre-dawn thunderstorm. Tables of scarlet and gray were chatting and laughing and everyone stopped to watch the forecast for the afternoon. An older man sitting near me kept dropping his hash browns to make some comment about the Hawkeye's defense or special teams or their general lack of ability in all things football.
As I walked closer to the stadium and the rain subsided, tents, coolers and foldout chairs began to spring up alongside the road. Crowds gathered around all restaurants and apparel shops - and those that managed the difficult task of serving both attracted mobs.
At 11 a.m. - an hour before kickoff - I made my way into the French Field House, home of the Skull Sessions
a mix between a pre-game speech and a parent-friendly band concert. Fans packed rows and rows of chairs. It was as if a red sheet of paper was stretched across the seats, with the occasional and accidental dot of yellow. The marching band put on an impressive show, and Jim Tressel and the Buckeyes made a quick appearance to wave and say Go Bucks! - to screams of admiration. Honestly, it was a self-righteous spectacle, with the collegiate pride of a pep rally and the sanctimonious speech of a Dear Leader sermon.
Nearby in the Schottenstein Center, The Rolling Stones were preparing for their concert later in the evening. The band that continues to defy cirrhosis, lung cancer and STIs was staging a tour to promote their new album. Though I doubt many people planned to watch both performances, the two - OSU football and the Rolling Stones - have a lot in common. They are both dynasties in their respective fields: powerful names, and sometimes powerful in name alone - i.e. the Buckeye's often detrimental faltering against Michigan. At games, generations collide: Alumni clamor for the reign of Woody Hayes, while many younger fans know him only as the bobble-head that appears on the Jumbo-tron during the game. I sat near the top, though the cover kept my mind from looking at the parking lot behind me. The game itself was a constant roar from young and old, as much a tribute to the present success as homage to past dominance, and that is the peculiar ambiance of a Buckeye football game. Fans return year after year on promise, potential and possibility. Every rising star has a forerunner in the past; for every Ted Ginn, Jr., there is an Archie Griffin or an Eddie George. For every A.J. Hawk, there is a Randy Gradishar.
After the game I drove through the fog on U.S. 33 East, half-expecting - in a twilight daze - to return to a stadium as large and as worthy of admiration as the one I had just left. I pulled off the highway and stared at Peden; it was like leaving the Schottenstein Center and walking into The Union.
The big names draw big crowds, but that also means many of the fans sit hundreds of yards away, paying to watch dots. For as much as Peden removes that feeling of magnitude that ESPN tried to instill, I would much rather sit overcrowded with 20,000 true fans than 100,000 followers of the past. 17
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Justin Thompson
