other · basketball
Apologies for Raising the Subject of Fellowship Napkin Absorbency
Reflections on campus traditions, awkward elevator silence, and the gentle art of not making a fuss around the Mabee Center.
It is perhaps terribly presumptuous of me to bring this up, and please do not feel obligated to agree in the slightest, but I have been thinking a great deal lately about the various traditions surrounding the Oral Roberts Golden Eagles basketball program, specifically the quiet ways we gather on campus when there isn't actually a game scheduled on the floor. I hope it is not an imposition to share these observations, and if anyone finds them intrusive or overly specific, I do sincerely apologize and will simply stare fixedly at my shoes for the remainder of the afternoon.
Walking past the Mabee Center on a quiet Saturday morning like this one, without the usual rush of fans or the roar of the student section to anchor our thoughts, leaves a rather vast sort of stillness in the air. One almost hesitates to breathe too loudly, lest the sound carry across the concourse and disrupt someone's peaceful Saturday. The campus is lovely this time of year, provided one doesn't mind the crisp autumn breeze that tends to catch you entirely unawares if you've only stepped outside for a moment without a proper cardigan.
When we do gather for home contests—though goodness knows nobody is required to attend, and I certainly don't wish to pressure anyone into an evening commitment they might find exhausting after a long work week—the atmosphere in the arena is something quite unique. I have often observed how the student section organizes its chants, though please understand I say this with the utmost deference to their youthful enthusiasm and am in no way suggesting they alter their pulmonary output. There is an earnestness to the way the pep band handles the fight song, striking up their instruments with a vigor that makes one gently cup a hand over one's coffee cup to keep the ripples from spilling onto the saucer.
Of course, modern analytics writers and efficiency experts might look at our fan traditions and find them lacking in some statistical metric or another, and to them, I offer a most humble and preemptive nod of agreement. If the numbers suggest our collective volume drops during opposing free throws because we are all inwardly paralyzed by the fear of causing a spiritual stumble in the shooter, well, far be it from me to defend our nervous disposition. We are simply a polite people, by and large. We prefer to keep our voices at a respectful conversational murmur, even when urging a fast break down the hardwood. If that translates to a somewhat muted home-court advantage, I truly hope the athletic department can forgive our constitutional inability to be truly abrasive.
There was a time, perhaps back during the deeper eras of campus memory, when things felt slightly more settled, though perhaps my recollection is merely faulty and I am remembering an entirely different building altogether. One tries not to impose one's nostalgic ghosts onto the present undergraduate body, who have enough to worry about with midterm examinations and parking permits. Speaking of parking, I did notice some congestion near the north lot earlier, though please do not let that ruin your day. It is entirely manageable if one is willing to walk three extra blocks and apologize to the driver behind you for taking six seconds to parallel park.
Ultimately, basketball on this campus is a shared exercise in communal anxiety and whispered prayers that nobody misses the front end of a one-and-one and brings down a quiet, crushing disappointment upon the entire student body. But we carry on, don't we? With a soft cough into a closed fist, a careful step over the threshold of the arena doors, and an enduring hope that everyone gets home safely before dark.