It was about 26 degrees the day I went with my daughter, son, and best friend to watch a football game at the University of Michigan, where my son is a freshman. This was my first football game watching the Wolverines at Michigan Stadium in Ann Arbor. Nicknamed āThe Big House,ā the stadium is the largest stadium in the United States; the third largest in the world. It boasts over 107,000 seats. I only know this because my friend, the ticket holder, was kindly sharing her knowledge of sports trivia with me. She knows I am hopeless when it comes to sports, but she patiently explains things to me anyway, which I appreciate.Ā
We prepared for the cold weather as best we knew how, each of us wearing at least two layers of pants, socks, and sweaters, trying to cover any exposed skin other than around our eyes. My friend, bless her, brought āHot Hands,ā those little packets you can stick inside your gloves that generate heat for several hours after you activate them.
Let me preface this by saying I am not a football person. I donāt really understand the game. But as soon as I walked through the gates in the shadow of a giant āMā plastered on the side of the stadium, I felt the electricity in the air. We were immediately awash in a sea of blue and gold, punctuated by a bit of orange here and there from fans from the opposing team, the Fighting Illini from University of Illinois.
People watching at any event where thereās a crowd is one of my favorite pastimes, and this game did not disappoint. There was no limit to the bold blue-and-gold clothing items that paraded by: striped pants, fleece blankets worn like capes, wooly hats, even a man in a banana suit apropos of nothing except for the Michigan Gold color. As we shivered under blankets, inhaling the steam from fries and a hot pretzel, a woman walked by with bare legs, wearing only denim shorts and a sweatshirt. I couldnāt take my eyes off of her. I searched her face to see if there were any telltale clenched teeth or shivering shoulders that would betray that she was standing in temperatures below freezing; I saw nothing. She stood proudly, her legs not even looking goose-fleshed in the frigidly cold wind. Hours later, I was still thinking about her, concerned about her in a maternal way that made no sense, considering she was my age or older. Still, I wondered if she was okay. I wondered if at some point she questioned her clothing choice. But I never saw her again so Iāll never know. I wish I couldāve told her how impressed I was with her display of Midwestern toughness.
The part that I was most excited for came at halftime: the marching band! To our surprise, both bands, Michigan and Illinois, marched out to the field together and performed music by famed movie soundtrack composer Hans Zimmer. The way the sun reflected off the bells of the sousaphones and the sharp movements as the trumpets aimed their instruments in military-like precision at an upturned angle gave me a lump in my throat. There was something symbolic about the bands of the two rival teams coming together ā āperhaps 700 or more students in all? āā swirling their colors together on the field, cutting through the wintry air with a blast of sound, working in tandem to support their teams.
No, Iām not a football person, but maybe I could be. The Big House opened my eyes to the excitement of being caught up in a stream of fans, ready to cheer on their team. Even in bitterly cold temps. Even in denim shorts. Worthy of a banana suit.
