Sitting at my desk late at night working on an art assignment, I can hear cheering from outside my window. It may have just been a party, but it was quiet before. I quickly remembered that Xavier was playing that night for a spot in the Sweet 16. I checked my Facebook: We won. The cheering was from other students who had been watching the game. We won and that’s what mattered.
My roommate came home not too long afterwards with one of his friends. “Were you watching the game?” She asked excitedly.
“No. I know we won, but I didn’t watch it.” There’s apathy dripping from my lips. I don’t care, I’ve never cared.
My first watch party was this year. I attended a management class being held at Delicio’s that my teacher threw for us. It was Xavier vs. Maryland at the beginning of the NCAA. I thought, why not? Free food, and maybe I can start getting interested in watching the games. All around me were boisterous and loud fans who knew the players names, knew how to react at every move, and were, alarming, mostly men. I felt uncomfortable and out of my area. I didn’t know anybody in the room beyond my professor and the people I worked with on a group project. It only reaffirmed that I held no interest in basketball.
From freshman year watching people hurry into Cintas during games, up until now, I have never physically been to a game. The majority of the time I’m working. I used to stroll by Cintas on my way to R2 dressed in uniform. I walked against the flow of white and blue fans heading towards the door while I went the opposite direction.
Sometimes I think about it. The tickets are free, I can show school pride, it’s a defined college moment I can talk about in the future. Then I run into supporters outside of campus that ruin the experience yet again, right as I was about to jump on board. When mentioning the Xavier gear and asking if they were at the game, I wanted to sound privy and mentioned the opposing team. “Where you at the Nova game?” I thought it was obvious what I was talking about. We’re in Cincinnati, we were facing off against Nova, it made sense.
The mother of the group got upset. “The what game?”
I went to say it again, “The Xavier ve-”
“The Xavier game. We were at the Xavier game.” She cut me off. Full defenses went up. I knew we lost, but was it really worth the aggravation? Should I pull out my All Card and prove that hey, I’m one of you! I’m on your side! I took back what I said about wanting to join the Xavier experience and continued in my desire to stay where I liked it the most: outside of the basketball court.
I’m not a sports person, and maybe at some point I’ll go. Watching the way people celebrated when we got into the Elite 8 was a rush of companionship and and pride, but the follow up Snapchat stories of the mess left behind the following morning again rescinded my feelings. I can’t seem to find an even ground where I can accept the sport and culture, while also allowing the negatives that come with it. Will I ever make it to a game? Who knows. Maybe at some point my senior year I’ll decide it’s worth it at least once. But if I never attend, I’m not concerned at all.
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