In a recap column titled "Next man up" that ran Monday, Andrew Seidman succeeded in telling you what the Virginia-Maryland football game at College Park, Md. looked like on the field.
Now, I want to tell you what it felt like and explain how it deepened my understanding of what it means to be a sports fan.
Perhaps you are one of the few thousand Wahoo fans I spied in the stadium. If so, much of this will be redundant or obvious. Keep up the good work - a traveling fan is the best kind of fan.
The story of this past weekend actually begins two years ago yesterday: the Cavaliers' most recent visit to College Park before last Saturday.
I was in the crowd that Saturday afternoon, when some fourth-string sophomore running back named Mikell Simpson outgained the entire Maryland team. It is and will likely remain the most thrilling and memorable Virginia football game I've attended.
Fast forward to 2009 - I knew I had to return to Maryland to see the sequel to that match-up. I had a hunch that the 2007 Cardiac Cavs may have left just a little bit of Virginia magic on the field, and that this year's matchup would be another nail-biter that would end up in favor of the Orange and Blue.
It turns out my hunch was both right and wrong.
From the perspective of quality of play, it was an absolutely awful game, one of the worst I've ever seen. Virginia's offensive line stood about as strong as balsa wood. Quarterbacks made poor decision after poor decision.
But there was plenty of magic in the game as a fan experience. It's games like these - gut-wrenching, physical, cold and wet - that cut football down to its most fundamental and human elements. Saturday's game wasn't a battle of systems and schemes as much as it was a battle of wills.
Saturday was cold and ugly from the start. The rain contributed to turning what should have been a three-hour car trip into four and a half hours.
I carpooled and sat with third-year College student Anthony Conty, known for the ridiculous duct-tape orange and blue suit he wears to Virginia sporting events.
We walked into the stadium, pride and Virginia spirit glowing in our hearts, only to witness ... not much of anything. Everything was bleak and gray. The bleachers were remarkably empty and grew more so as the clock ticked. I'd be surprised if half of the 44,000 in attendance made it to the beginning of the third quarter.
Unbeknownst to us, our front row seats happened to be right in the area where Maryland student hecklers like to sneak in. Conty and I spent most of the game coming up with cheers to counter these meanie-bo-beanie Terps fans.
My editors won't allow me to reprint most of the things these taunters shouted at any Cavalier football player who crossed in front of them. Let's just say several of these Maryland students believe junior long-snapper Danny Aiken is something that rhymes with "ducking witch."
Still, it was mostly playful in spirit and the hecklers left nearby Virginia fans alone.
By kickoff, my toes had already started to go numb. With temperatures dipping to the low 40s, in rain and mist, and on metal bleachers, the stinging cold was nonstop.
The first half was - at best - bland football, and the entire stadium's patience was tested. The loudest noise from fans of both sides was booing announcements of media timeouts.
I was beginning to doubt whether the game could end up being even remotely interesting when sophomore wide receiever Kris Burd made a bizarre catch halfway through the third quarter.
What happened, as I saw it from my seat on the other side of the stadium, was that senior quarterback Jameel Sewell's wobbly pass was caught by one of the two Maryland defenders ... but, wait, the refs called it a Virginia catch?
With something to cheer about at last, we watched the big screen as the ball slipped out of a Terp's fingertips and literally landed on the chest of a horizontal Burd, who was lying about an inch from the sideline.
Though that drive only amounted to a field goal, it gave Virginia the spark it needed to ultimately outshine Maryland. A few minutes later, in a play nearly as fluke-like as Burd's reception, senior defensive end Nate Collins caught a batted pass and returned it for a touchdown.
I could really start to hear the Virginia fans at this point.
The players could hear the Virginia fans, too. Several of them acknowledged us, including sophomore punter Jimmy Howell, who nodded at me after I complimented his solid 37-yarder, and sophomore receiver Jared Green, who pointed to Conty as he grabbed his jersey, as if to compliment his duct tape jacket.
As the clock wound down and the Terrapin fans headed toward the exits, I was struck with a different kind of magic than what I experienced in 2007. In spite of the uncomfortable conditions and sloppy play, I was bonding with a small but enthusiastic group of instantaneous friends.
I wasn't a speck of orange and blue in an otherwise red, black and gold stadium. I was one member of a community. Like any true community - whether it is a family or a religious group or a sports team - there was an unspoken bond between the lingering Cavalier fans and Virginia players.
It didn't feel strange in the slightest when people I'd never met high-fived me or asked me to get in their pictures memorializing another Virginia victory. We're all Cavaliers. What does it matter if I don't know everyone's name?
That's the magic of being a traveling sports fan. Whether you walk away from the game disappointed or elated, you're a member of a group on a journey.
I firmly believe that the underlying appeal of sports is that it is a microcosm of everything it means to be a human. Perhaps, then, trekking to an away game is the most simple and meaningful action a fan can take. After all, what is life but one long journey?
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