By CHRIS CAMPO
Journalism II
I was naked. Wait. No, I just felt naked. I was a small blotch of red in a vast sea of green and gold.
Waiting in line at Raymond James Stadium, home of the USF Bulls, I felt eyes on me like the pouring rain of a Tampa Bay lightning storm.
For the next three or four hours I was going to be a Rutgers football fan in a house where 65,000 people only cheered for two teams: the Southern Florida Bulls and the professional home team, Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
As the usher tore the stub off my moistened ticket that I had been holding nervously in my balmy hands, I continued sauntering down the packed hallway of the stadium surrounded by the home fans.
I felt like an enslaved gladiator being forced into the Coliseum to fight to the death against warriors and lions.
The reality was just as bad–drunken college football fans.
For the last couple weeks my goal has been to make myself the person no sports fan ever enjoys being: “The away team fan.”
USF had their big game against Rutgers on Nov. 3. I assumed I would receive a more colorful response from the rowdy college kids than from Buccaneer fans.
I made sure I had a seat within the student section (“the shark tank,” “the lion’s den,” “ground zero,” whichever name you prefer.)
I had taken about ten steps towards my seat when I heard a voice coming from the section to the right of me.
“Get that f—ing red shirt out of my stadium!” I looked behind me and saw the smug grin on a USF male’s face.
I thought to myself, “Ehh, that wasn’t so bad. It could have been worse.”
All of a sudden his crude comment started a chain reaction that gave a handful of the Bulls fans around him the courage to start tossing verbal stones at me.
“You suck!” “Go back to Jersey, you douche bag!” “Your mom even knows Rutgers sucks!”
I sat down in the midst of all the people that would hate me for the next few hours, I wasn’t comfortable with the situation, but I felt I had to embrace what was happening around me.
The insults didn’t stop. It was the same insult just worded differently every time: “You suck,” “Your team sucks,” “Go home.”
I decided to start firing back at them. I started throwing my team’s” successes in their face.
“Oh, yeah. Did you see that catch!? USF can’t stop sh–!” Back and forth I argued with an entire section of loyal Bulls fans.
The game stayed close the entire way, fueling reactions from both USF fans and myself.
“If USF pulls this out, I get to kick you in the balls, how about that?” said an angry female fan sitting behind me towards the end of the game.
In hindsight, I’m glad I never made that wager because my night would have ended with a 28-27 loss for Rutgers, home fans berating me with insults and food wrappers on my way out, and some sore balls.
For the second part of my experiment, I decided on a high school football double-header, where there is twice the action and the kids are half as mature as the college crowd. I wore a cup for this one.
I caught the first half of Hillsborough High vs. King Lions. For the half I was going to be a Hillsborough Terrier.
When I arrived, I noticed that a lot of the girls from Hillsborough were wearing some of the players’ home jerseys.
I approached a few of the girls wearing the jerseys and asked if I could wear her jersey for part of the game.
After a few tries, one girl agreed to let me borrow her jersey.
I headed up to the bleachers to sit in the middle of the Lions students.
“If you don’t get the f— outta here, I’m gonna rip the shirt off your back and burn it in the parking lot.”
I hadn’t even sat down when I heard this being shouted by a rather large high school male.
Being a little less intimidated by high school kids, I waved the Terrier’s jersey in all of the Lions faces.
In less than five minutes with the jersey on, an assault of empty water bottles began hitting the back of my head and shoulders from the restless Lions fans (who were losing at this point).
I felt I had to cease my battle station only when a concerned parent came over to me.
“Nothing good is going to come from you sitting here.” I decided it was time to return the jersey and get out of dodge.
I socialized myself into the world of what away fans go through on a game-to-game basis.
I was insulted, threatened, abused and fired upon, but I came out with all my limbs intact and still able to procreate.
The idea of being at the home field is a comfort in which I don’t take lightly after being in three different away situations in four days.
I have a new-found respect for you, away fans.