Entering the coliseum of Texas football

I have never been a big sports fan. Since I was a little kid I hated all kinds of games, especially the ones involving balls, because apparently my head just attracts them.

As a non-sports fan, I had not planned to go to any games in my first semester in Austin, especially a college football game.

American football is not a very popular sport in Brazil, my home country, and I only watched the occasional Super Bowl game replay when my dad took over the living room television. I indulged him by pretending to understand the rules of the game he so excitedly explained to me.

The idea to go to a Longhorn game was made on the spur of the moment, when the opportunity to get good tickets presented itself. I was curious to see what the commotion was all about.

The day before the game I bought my first Longhorn's t-shirt. I hate the team's color, a dirty orange that resembles mud, too much for my taste, but since I was going to the game I might as well cheer for them properly.

That night I became so excited about actually watching a live game of American football that I called home and had my father explain the rules again (I payed attention this time), so I could follow the game (more or less).

Walking to the stadium some hours before the start of the big game, I realized exactly how important football is in Austin.

I was stunned by the absurd amount of people dressed in orange, the awful amount of girls in cowboy boots, men wearing white cowboy hats, the smell of Texas barbecue being grilled in the air and country music bursting from every corner.

Despite a rather good live performance featuring an upright bass player.

The whole town seemed to be waiting eagerly for the show. At that moment, surrounded by the tailgaters (a word I had not known before that day) I felt surrounded by devotees going to the holiest ceremony of their live's, and it was only the first game of the season.

The big show began even before the judge flipped the coin. Cheerleaders (male and female) jumped around the field, dressed in a lot of fringe, while the audience followed their lead and screamed some kind of ritual war chant in unison.

I could only decipher an abundance of "Texas" being repeated.

Moments later the greatest, loudest and most organized band I have ever seen stole the show.

While performing a huge variety of music, including the national anthem, the Texas anthem and what I guess was the instrumental part that went with the "war chants." During those parts everybody stood up and sung at the top of their lungs, something involving a lot of "Texas,"while putting one or both hand in the air and doing the longhorn hand symbol. The band then entered in to a series of intricate formations with impeccable synchrony.

In between the shows both teams were engaged in a serious intimidation ritual, where they stretched and warmed up in a very "cavemanish" manner. I could almost see the players baring teeth and growling at each other.

At some point, while I was mesmerized by the huge variety of shows unveiling right before my eyes, the game began and everybody stood.

In that moment everything changed. A ball flew, men ran, a Monroe player got the ball and was brutally dragged to the ground by a Longhorn seconds after. I thought the fight was over, but the possessed orange crowd wouldn't sit, it was right then that I saw the Longhorn player yanking the ball from the Monroe player.

"Is that even allowed?," I remembered thinking.

After half an hour I began to understand the game, or at least I had learned how to scream, cheer and clap at the proper moments and before I noticed, I was enjoying the game!

I had a moment of connection with all those sadistic Romans, who enjoyed watching people being chased, taken down and eaten by lions in the Coliseum; it was fun to watch, they all knew what was going to happen the moment the cages were opened, but the exciting part is to see exactly how the beasts were going to corner, scare and play with the live food.

Maybe everyone of the football enthusiasts around me wanted to be in the field running after the man with the ball, to yank, beat, and jump towards their targets, without being killed or suffering serious bodily injury?

Halfway trough the game, the score read 45 to 13 for the Longhorns.

I then began to sympathize with the enemy. Monroe couldn't run even ten yards without being beaten down.

The Texan team just kept going! Touchdown after touchdown. Could they show no mercy?

It is a great feeling to cheer for the wining team, but there ought to be some kind of sports courtesy, shouldn't there?

The rest of the game was uneventful. It didn't make any sense to cheer for a game already decided and I found myself scanning the crowd for maroon T-shirts, at least one Monroe fan, but couldn't find any.

Every defeated team deserves a mourner, but it would not be me, because I went with the Longhorns. My compassionate self did enjoy watching the lions feasting on the poor souls.

In the end I just embraced my sadistic self and went to celebrate, as a true Longhorn fan would: I went early, dressed orange, was loud and stayed late.