Bowling for Dollars - Page 5

Now Let Us Play

All is in readiness as Marigold arrives from the Metro, having come across town after work. She missed the Armory pre-game celebration and tailgate party, so she is not yet fortified against the cold with the warmth of alcohol. She makes her way to join her men at their designated seats, out under the slaty December skies, the sun already too low to provide a lightbulb's warmth in this vast cold mausoleum, where so many sporting dreams have come to naught.

This is the venue where the Washington Senators won lasting ridicule as 'First in War, First in Peace, and Last in the American League.' This is where the Washington Redskins franchise struggled before they moved to a new, enormous football palace. This is not a stadium echoing with greatness.

This is, however, a stadium bowing to the gods of expedience: no heavy lift of huge ticket sales; no donation requirements to a charity and a pair of teams willing to play here for the sake of being in any bowl game, no matter how small, in a contest however poorly-matched, under field conditions no athlete could enjoy. Big Games are where you find them and, if you're here, it's because attending a bowl game is a notable experience – everyone should be so lucky!

Thanks to the twin obstacles of distance and climate, many UCLA alumni stay home and stay warm. Philadelphia's not far and Temple denizens are a hardy bunch, accustomed to wintry weather, daunting odds, the whole underdog mystique. Rocky Balboa is the city's patron saint – a has-been who works hard, takes his lumps, gets knocked down but comes back to win another day. Maybe Rocky will guide the Owls today.

Marigold has brought an army blanket under which, the trio huddle – cold before the game is even underway. She declines a beer, which would make her hands colder than they already are despite her gloves. Too bad they don't sell whisky – not ordinarily a drinker, she would appreciate the heat of a high-octane beverage today.

The only way to stay warm is to cheer energetically at every opportunity – pass the ball, catch the ball – yay! Make two yards rushing – double yay! Win a first down – whoopee! A touchdown produces an ecstatic outpouring from frozen fans – 'Hooray for the Owls! Go Temple Go!'

And go they do – the first half is Temple's. Those UCLA players don't typically endure such harsh conditions. The cold must be much more unpleasant for them than for the Owls, who must often face bad weather.

The half-time show is a chance to get up and hustle around the concourse – not that once-warm French fries have any appeal but moving circulates the blood and thaws the fingers and toes. A visit to the restroom proves that the building has no hot water. At least the toilets are clean and supplies are adequate – one dare not complain. Someday, these hastily-dried hands will thaw.

An investment in hot chocolate is mandatory and half the fans are in the concession stand line. Marigold is fortunate to purchase two frothy cups before the treat is gone – and though the beverages are tepid, they are much warmer than their surroundings – yes, the fans will certainly both drink and enjoy them (while cuddling them between their hands as one might nurse the beginnings of a fire, encouraging the infant flame in hopes of its flourishing into actual warmth).

Fred and Ernesto have done their own concession line gauntlet and the trio reconvene at their seats, fortified with icy cocoa, cold dogs, crystalized ketchup and frozen buns. They look around at their fellow fans – groups everywhere are outfitted in team jerseys, hats, face paint and mustard stains, sporting beer and burgers, either insensitive to 23-degree weather or too drunk to care. Fred and company resettle on their frigid metal slabs, remembering fondly, summer days in ball parks, when presence was pleasant. Bodily warmth soaks away into seats exposed to Washington December, untouched by the ghost of low-winter sun.

Temple's marching band heads back to the stands, having performed as spirited a half-time show as musicians who must put their warm lips against brass mouthpieces and bare fingers on brass valves could possibly offer. Teams return to the field to a roar from the crowd, and the contest is resumed.