My alarm starts blasting at 6:30 a.m. Saturday morning. Just as I set my phone down, my roommate’s alarm sounds. He wakes up and we look at each other with a shared sense of purpose. It’s time—this is the day of the Duke game.
We scurry to the showers, then don our gear for the day: navy knee-high socks, gray shorts, a student section t-shirt, white stunna shades, and a fedora. The weather reports indicate snow, so we both tack on some sweatpants, a hoodie, and a winter coat. We enter the hallway and the rest of our crew is waiting for us. We all grab some Sprite bottles for refreshment and we’re off, heading out into the cool, dark morning.
As we approach the front gates, the two taxis we had ordered the night before are waiting—perfect. The time is 7 a.m. and we are fast approaching the Verizon Center. We had heard rumors of students sleeping over the night before to get good places in line, but we figured a 7:15 a.m. arrival should put us right near the front. How wrong we were. Upon arrival, we see that at least 150 students are already in line, some sleeping in tents, others huddled up on newspapers hastily strewn about the sidewalk. We join these diehards, setting up camp on the pavement twenty feet from the McDonald’s and settling in for the next four hours.
This is what I signed up for.
Around 10 a.m. the snow starts falling hard. The weather, coupled with the countless taxis and garbage trucks that honk their horns to rile up the line, creates the perfect atmosphere of anticipation for the game. Finally, the doors open, and the mad push to enter begins. After squeezing through the door and passing security, the sprint for seats commences. My friends and I find a suitable row on the opposite side of the entrance and begin final preparations for the game: face paint. All around us men and women are creating truly superb works of body art, but we go for the classic half-blue half-gray faces along with those timeless words of wisdom, “HOYA SAXA,” down our arms. With our looks complete, we engage in some last minute constructive criticism of the Blue Devils before the game starts. Just before the national anthem, President Barack Obama walks to the courtside seats right in front of our section.
This is what I signed up for.
The game itself delivered a bigger payoff than any of us had hoped for. The Verizon Center was a sea of gray, with an unbelievable energy flowing from the student section, amplified by the presence of our President—Duke had no chance. From the opening tip to the final buzzer, we didn’t think about sitting down as our Hoyas played suffocating defense while never seeming to miss a shot. You know you have a good program when the President comes to your games, but you know you have a downright filthy team when he leaves early because your opponent is getting blown out of the arena. I was even fortunate enough to shake the President’s hand as he made his way back into the tunnel.
This is what I signed up for.
When I made the choice to come to Georgetown, I envisioned waking up before the sun rose to attend nationally televised games with my friends. I envisioned going bananas in the student section and beating the best teams in the country. This is what I signed up for, and last Saturday I realized that I could not be happier with my decision.
