Those of you that know me know what a fan I am of professional sports. More than that, those having read my post of November 2016 (Gladiators) know what a big football fan and, specifically, a big Vikings fan I am. Those proclivities, along with the fact that Bonnie and I had a chance to go to our first game together this year with daughter Anne and her husband, Jonathan, made the recent Vikings/Saints game we attended a really big deal.I thought I knew what to expect. Lot's of ceremony, crowd noise, fireworks, manufactured bursts of thunderous low frequency sonance. This playoff game, however, was a completely different level of hype and circumstance. As it would turn out, it would also be an entirely differenct level of the improbable.
From the moment the players emerged from the locker room tunnel through the fire breathing dragon, the crowd announced an amplified level of engagement. Son Kent texted from his position in front of the television, "I hope you remembered your earplugs." We hadn't - regrettably. OSHA would never approve of the decibel levels we would experience, either from the crowd or from the manufactured noise.
My wife and daughter always chide me for my usual football game stance - arms folded, a slight smile on my face as I people watch, often oblivious to the game. That's the best part - watching the fans. Vikings, if you didn't know, come in all shapes and sizes, in all manner of warpaint, with all different kinds of equipment, in all stages of dress (or undress).They often behave at the extremes of emotion, depending on the outcome of a play. On this day it would be most evident. Starting with the first kick-off, up until well after the last play, we all stood. They could have just done away with the seats. There was no need. When the Vikings defense was on the field, the huge video screens at either end of the field would plead, "make some noise," showing some measurement of volume that I presumed to be decibel level and rivaled that of a rock concert. The noise would continue unabated until the play was concluded, and then only slightly. The only contrast (and relief) was when the offense would take the field. A hush would fill the stadium, allowing your ears to ring, giving a clue of the headache that would come after it was all over.
The first half of the game left the fans almost giddy. Two unanswered touchdowns and a field goal left the score 17-0, leading some to believe this was going to be a cakewalk, at least if you measured attitude in liters of beer consumed. Everyone was smiling, being most gracious and kind to the few attending Saints fans left sulking in their seats. Minnesota nice. In the second half of the game, those Saints fans would take on the same giddiness, while their far more numerous foes spent the next two quarters slowly evolving into dread. Could it be that the Vikings would live up to their reputation of Minnesota professional sports. Always above average but never able to go the distance?
The game was down to its last three minutes as the opponents took the lead for the first time - by one point. When I looked over at my daughter, I saw her slowly curling herself into what I thought might end up in the fetal position. A short time later, the Vikings regained the lead, leaving the Saints only a minute and a half before we could seal the deal. Unfortunately, they marched down the field and kicked another field goal with only 25 seconds left. Really? Again? The shallowness of my fan loyalty started to come out. I grumbled, drooped my shoulders, and started to criticize the failed plays. I know SO much about football, you know. Then I decided to try to walk my way back to not caring. Well, I thought, we had a good time, spent with our kids, the first half was fun, and I don't really like football anyway. Away with you, my Debbie Downer feelings.
On the other hand, those around me and most of those in the stadium kept yelling, kept hoping with a chant of "let's go Vikings." They weren't being traditional. They weren't giving up. They were looking for a miracle.
Then it happened. As if in slow motion (probably remembered so because of all the slow motion replays I've seen since), I looked up and saw the ball drift high to the sidelines. Two or three Saints players were waiting for it when up swooped a fella by the name of Diggs. He leapt over their heads, snatched the ball away from defeat, dropped to the ground without falling, stayed in bounds, and ran for the end zone. The trip seemed to move the stadium volume knob correspondingly, as a thunderous roar erupted. It was like coming up to the end of a huge water fall. In disbelief, everyone started jumping up and down to the point that the concrete floor felt like it was undulating. Everyone was high-fiving everyone. The place went crazy. Pandemonium ensued.
The game was practically (but not officially) over. Everyone stayed. And stayed on their feet. Everywhere you could hear "What the...what just happened?" "Did you see that?" "Can you believe..?" Incredulity everywhere. Players and media and who knows who were on the field. Over the PA you heard, "everyone needs to clear the field so we can finish the game... clear the field please." No one on the field moved toward the sidelines. They must have remembered their ear plugs.
Then you could see a few Saints players, who had all left the field some time before, straggle back onto the field to serve as an official defensive line stand-in for the point after. While waiting, Keenum, the Vikings quarterback, raised his hands and started a Skol chant that quickly caught on with the 50 or 60 thousand fans still in the stadium. It was another few minutes before both teams feinted an extra point play and Keenum took a knee and the game was over - really over. Then, slowly, fans started to head out onto the concourses, almost 45 minutes after the walk-off touchdown.
We decided to walk to the other side of the stadium inside the concourse to avoid the cold outside as long as possible. Mistake. The hallways were clogged with revelers, high-fiving and fist-bumping all those they came across as though we were all beer buddies. Chants of "Skol" and "Zimmer" and "Philly" reverberated. When we finally did get out into the very fresh air, the euphoria around us continued. Many of those heading back to their cars were lightly dressed for the winter temperatures, but couldn't have cared in the least. It had been snowing during the game, so the sidewalks were covered and the traffic slow. You don't often see that many people in those conditions with such big smiles and laughter and frivolity. Complete strangers were, for a brief point in time, all family.
The game was down to its last three minutes as the opponents took the lead for the first time - by one point. When I looked over at my daughter, I saw her slowly curling herself into what I thought might end up in the fetal position. A short time later, the Vikings regained the lead, leaving the Saints only a minute and a half before we could seal the deal. Unfortunately, they marched down the field and kicked another field goal with only 25 seconds left. Really? Again? The shallowness of my fan loyalty started to come out. I grumbled, drooped my shoulders, and started to criticize the failed plays. I know SO much about football, you know. Then I decided to try to walk my way back to not caring. Well, I thought, we had a good time, spent with our kids, the first half was fun, and I don't really like football anyway. Away with you, my Debbie Downer feelings.
On the other hand, those around me and most of those in the stadium kept yelling, kept hoping with a chant of "let's go Vikings." They weren't being traditional. They weren't giving up. They were looking for a miracle.
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| What the *&$# just happened? |
Then you could see a few Saints players, who had all left the field some time before, straggle back onto the field to serve as an official defensive line stand-in for the point after. While waiting, Keenum, the Vikings quarterback, raised his hands and started a Skol chant that quickly caught on with the 50 or 60 thousand fans still in the stadium. It was another few minutes before both teams feinted an extra point play and Keenum took a knee and the game was over - really over. Then, slowly, fans started to head out onto the concourses, almost 45 minutes after the walk-off touchdown.
We decided to walk to the other side of the stadium inside the concourse to avoid the cold outside as long as possible. Mistake. The hallways were clogged with revelers, high-fiving and fist-bumping all those they came across as though we were all beer buddies. Chants of "Skol" and "Zimmer" and "Philly" reverberated. When we finally did get out into the very fresh air, the euphoria around us continued. Many of those heading back to their cars were lightly dressed for the winter temperatures, but couldn't have cared in the least. It had been snowing during the game, so the sidewalks were covered and the traffic slow. You don't often see that many people in those conditions with such big smiles and laughter and frivolity. Complete strangers were, for a brief point in time, all family.
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