Pointless College Stories 2, Episode 5: Halftime
Last year’s PCSW, at least on this blog, featured several football stories. This year, it’s hard to believe I’ve gotten this far without one, isn’t it?
In fact, this story takes place at the very first PSU game I was able to attend, against the University of Texas Longhorns, in September of 1990. I mentioned before that I hadn’t been interested in football when I started at PSU, and hadn’t even bothered buying tickets. That changed fast in just two weeks on campus. (See? College makes you a quick learner.) I needed to get into the games somehow, so I took a job working a student-run concession stand. At first, I stayed in the back, helping my roommate cook burgers. I did my time at the counter, too, where I experienced the joy of serving the public that most young people learn by working retail in the mall. Eventually, though, I realized that if I wanted to see the game, the best way to do it was by taking a tray of hot dogs or sodas out into the stands, and selling them to the alumni. (Alumni, not students -- alumni were more likely to be polite, and more likely to buy the larger sizes.) You’d think that trying to watch the game while working would be a bad combination, but the reality is that football has an awful lot of downtime, and during the ten seconds when action is happening on the field, your customers are focusing on that, so it’s OK for you to watch too.
The golden time, when you’re working concessions, is the third quarter. During the first half, there’s a steady stream of customers, halftime is (of course) insane, and in the fourth, people buy things as they trickle out, depending on how quickly the game becomes a foregone conclusion. But the third...ain’t nobody on the concourse during the third. Remember that the next time you go to a football game -- free tip from Word Geek.
Since the third quarter was usually so quiet, it was acceptable for some of us to take turns venturing into the stadium to watch the game at the railing for a few minutes. Our stand was on the ground level, so standing at the rail was a really good view, from about the 20-yard line. We didn’t have “staff shirts” as such...they were more like tabards, to be honest, but so long as you had one on, with its blue Lion logo, Security wouldn’t chase you away from the rail.
So it’s the first game, like I said, and the dude running the stand tells me, and some girl I don’t know, to take a break and go watch from the rail for a bit. You’ve probably been to major sports events, and you probably have some idea what a full stadium sounds like, but Beaver Stadium is more than most people get to experience. It held roughly 85,000 people at the time I was there (it’s over 100,000 now), and from that close to the field, you’re completely surrounded by the noise. I think you’d have to be on the team, or in the band, to get the experience more fully. I was overwhelmed by it at first, and then I made an active effort to talk to the girl, because I had to talk to somebody, and there was nobody else close enough to hear me. We started noticing all the little details about the field that you don’t see when you watch it on TV...the coaches, the benches, what the band is up to, the mascot, things like that.
Eventually, she turned and asked me, “What’s with the TV cameras? Is that WPSU, or something?”
“The TV...? Well, one of them might be WPSU, but I imagine they’re mostly network cameras.”
“What do you mean, network? Which network?”
“Not sure...whichever major network is showing it. It’s a nationally televised game this week.”
“Nationally? Who’d watch this game?”
I was giving her a funny look by this point. “Just to guess, I’d imagine lots of college football fans in Pennsylvania and Texas.”
“Texas? Why Texas?”
Now I was trying to keep from laughing out loud, “See the guys with the orange bull-heads on their helmets? They’re the Texas Longhorns.”
“They’re from Texas? How did they get here?”
“On a plane, I suppose. The same way our team is going to get to California next week...we’re playing USC, you know.”
“They play teams from all over the country?” I think she was starting to look outraged at the idea.
“Sure. Who did you think we played?”
“I don’t know...other local colleges?”
“Like Bloomsburg, or something?” I waved an arm. “Look around...you wouldn’t get this many people to watch a game between us and Bloomsburg.”
“I’m starting to get that idea, yeah.”
“You really didn’t know Penn State had a national football program?”
I don’t think she ever answered me on that one, and we couldn’t stay out there much longer anyway. I guess that explained why she was working the stands, and didn’t have tickets of her own. Thinking back on it, I can only imagine she wasn’t from Pennsylvania, and really had no idea about the program. Growing up with a sports fan for a father, even though I didn’t care for football (yet), I still knew about PSU’s program by reputation. I like to think she got season tickets the next year, which is what I made sure to do for my remaining three years.
In fact, this story takes place at the very first PSU game I was able to attend, against the University of Texas Longhorns, in September of 1990. I mentioned before that I hadn’t been interested in football when I started at PSU, and hadn’t even bothered buying tickets. That changed fast in just two weeks on campus. (See? College makes you a quick learner.) I needed to get into the games somehow, so I took a job working a student-run concession stand. At first, I stayed in the back, helping my roommate cook burgers. I did my time at the counter, too, where I experienced the joy of serving the public that most young people learn by working retail in the mall. Eventually, though, I realized that if I wanted to see the game, the best way to do it was by taking a tray of hot dogs or sodas out into the stands, and selling them to the alumni. (Alumni, not students -- alumni were more likely to be polite, and more likely to buy the larger sizes.) You’d think that trying to watch the game while working would be a bad combination, but the reality is that football has an awful lot of downtime, and during the ten seconds when action is happening on the field, your customers are focusing on that, so it’s OK for you to watch too.
The golden time, when you’re working concessions, is the third quarter. During the first half, there’s a steady stream of customers, halftime is (of course) insane, and in the fourth, people buy things as they trickle out, depending on how quickly the game becomes a foregone conclusion. But the third...ain’t nobody on the concourse during the third. Remember that the next time you go to a football game -- free tip from Word Geek.
Since the third quarter was usually so quiet, it was acceptable for some of us to take turns venturing into the stadium to watch the game at the railing for a few minutes. Our stand was on the ground level, so standing at the rail was a really good view, from about the 20-yard line. We didn’t have “staff shirts” as such...they were more like tabards, to be honest, but so long as you had one on, with its blue Lion logo, Security wouldn’t chase you away from the rail.
So it’s the first game, like I said, and the dude running the stand tells me, and some girl I don’t know, to take a break and go watch from the rail for a bit. You’ve probably been to major sports events, and you probably have some idea what a full stadium sounds like, but Beaver Stadium is more than most people get to experience. It held roughly 85,000 people at the time I was there (it’s over 100,000 now), and from that close to the field, you’re completely surrounded by the noise. I think you’d have to be on the team, or in the band, to get the experience more fully. I was overwhelmed by it at first, and then I made an active effort to talk to the girl, because I had to talk to somebody, and there was nobody else close enough to hear me. We started noticing all the little details about the field that you don’t see when you watch it on TV...the coaches, the benches, what the band is up to, the mascot, things like that.
Eventually, she turned and asked me, “What’s with the TV cameras? Is that WPSU, or something?”
“The TV...? Well, one of them might be WPSU, but I imagine they’re mostly network cameras.”
“What do you mean, network? Which network?”
“Not sure...whichever major network is showing it. It’s a nationally televised game this week.”
“Nationally? Who’d watch this game?”
I was giving her a funny look by this point. “Just to guess, I’d imagine lots of college football fans in Pennsylvania and Texas.”
“Texas? Why Texas?”
Now I was trying to keep from laughing out loud, “See the guys with the orange bull-heads on their helmets? They’re the Texas Longhorns.”
“They’re from Texas? How did they get here?”
“On a plane, I suppose. The same way our team is going to get to California next week...we’re playing USC, you know.”
“They play teams from all over the country?” I think she was starting to look outraged at the idea.
“Sure. Who did you think we played?”
“I don’t know...other local colleges?”
“Like Bloomsburg, or something?” I waved an arm. “Look around...you wouldn’t get this many people to watch a game between us and Bloomsburg.”
“I’m starting to get that idea, yeah.”
“You really didn’t know Penn State had a national football program?”
I don’t think she ever answered me on that one, and we couldn’t stay out there much longer anyway. I guess that explained why she was working the stands, and didn’t have tickets of her own. Thinking back on it, I can only imagine she wasn’t from Pennsylvania, and really had no idea about the program. Growing up with a sports fan for a father, even though I didn’t care for football (yet), I still knew about PSU’s program by reputation. I like to think she got season tickets the next year, which is what I made sure to do for my remaining three years.