Page 46 of Between the Blue
Forty-five minutes.
That’s what it took to change out of my sweatpants, get to the arena, find a parking spot, and navigate my way inside.
I make quick work of circling the arena to find the entrance for the section number on my tickets, but pause as I’m about to walk in.
I should go to the bathroom before I sit down.
During my few minutes in the bathroom, I have the pleasure of hearing the sports announcers over the speakers and am able to pick up that the game is about halfway through the third period. If I’m going to catch any of this show, I should probably get in there.
I make my way back towards my section entrance once again, but find my feet veering off to the side as I see an illuminated advertisement for Diet Dr. Pepper behind one of the concession stand counters.
I let the woman behind the counter small talk with me far longer than I normally ever would, even letting her sell me into buying a larger souvenir cup with the promise of free refills even though I’m pretty sure the chances are exactly zero that I would need to refill this giant cup with the no more than the fifteen minutes that must be left in this game.
I’m totally not procrastinating, I tell myself as I take a sip of my soda, listening to the concession stand worker explainto me that her first marriage brought her to Austin but her fourth marriage brought her back. It’s only when she asks me what brought me to Austin and I have to tell her that I’m here attending school for photography that I force myself to remember why I’m here.
I thank her, waving goodbye as I make my way towards my section for the final time. There’s an usher standing in front of a curtain at the end of the small hallway I find myself walking down. As I approach, he gives me a quick smile, and before I can even return it, he’s pulling back the curtain and revealing the scene of the Texas Storm hockey game to me.
My breath is nearly taken away as I step across the threshold, taking in everything before me. I am completely shocked by the sheer size of the arena, but am even more taken aback by the number of raging fans in attendance. I know every sport has dedicated fans, but I had no idea to expect this level of support for an ice sport in Texas.
I make my way down the steps, glancing at the ticket on my phone as a final reminder of where I’m sitting.
Fourth row.
It occurs to me as I make my way towards the rink that the dean of an arts college must make a pretty penny to be able to afford these season tickets.
I find myself crossing my arms to warm myself as I approach my seat, the cool air that initially felt refreshing really settling in now. And I realize that throwing the sage green dress I had been wearing all day back on as an attempt to somewhat show some support for the team was not the best decision.
First of all, because my lack of sleeves already have my teeth chattering after about thirty seconds of being in here, and, two, because it’s not the right shade of green, and I stick out like an extremely sore thumb in this sea of emerald green fans.
I find my seat, which is luckily on the very end of the fourth row, and scoot in next to an extremely enthusiastic boy that appears to be about twelve years old and having the time of his life. And it’s not until I take in the look of sheer excitement on his face that I realize I’ve been so focused on the crowd that I haven’t yet given the rink my full attention.
I turn my head forward to do so and nearly bite clean through my drink straw as two massive men slam into the plexiglass right in front of me with the force of an 18-wheeler.
The players shove off of one another for just a second before coming back together, the non-Storm player in the red jersey apparently deciding in a split second that he wasn’t ready to let the hit go and yanking the Storm player forward by the collar of his jersey.
I immediately clutch my chest while the fans around me erupt into applause, jumping out of their seats and cheering with as much of a reaction as I’d expect for a goal being scored. As the players spin around, I am able to catch a glimpse of the Texas Storm player involved in the tussle.
I immediately notice his light brown hair curling out in tufts from the back of his helmet and his oddly enthusiastic grin for someone who’s very likely to get socked in the face in the next few moments. The two players get in each other’s faces, exchanging a few words, and I’m convinced they're really about to get into a full on brawl, but then a referee skates over in their direction. And, just like that, it’s over.
The two players break it up, separating and zipping towards the other end of the ice at a speed I can’t even begin to comprehend, each of them now completely focused on the puck and not showing any lasting effects of what just went down between the two of them, making me blink after them in disbelief.
I tear my eyes away from the game, shaking my head as I take another much needed sip of my soda.
Addie, what the hell are you thinking about getting yourself into?
I know next to nothing about this sport. And these men are certainly a far cry from the soft and sweet models I’m used to photographing. Everything about this scares me.
But…
Why does that almost make me want to do it more?
I’ve made connections with lots of fashion lovers over the years, but the passion these fans around me are displaying over a mere preseason game is making something in my chest pinch. It’s making me feel like…this could be something really exciting to be a part of.
Terrifying, messy, intimidating, but, nevertheless…exciting.
Am I going crazy?
I don’t get to answer my own question before the blaring sound of a horn suddenly fills the arena, and every person in the crowd immediately flies to their feet.
