Purple Haze

Purple Haze

Grim resignation.

That’s what I saw etched on the faces of Hokie fans after the football game yesterday. This was no ordinary malaise. As we zombied down the stadium ramps in our purple haze, numb to the “surprising” loss to ECU, we were serenaded by choruses of triumphant purple cheers which echoed through the bowels of the stadium through marooned people from purple person to purple person.

Their joy instantly transported me through time to places where Hokies innocently and passionately celebrated gridiron victory or proudly stood firm to vastly superior foes. The energy from those first victories over Miami, the comeback against the Hoos, and the symphonic dismantling of Alabama in the Music City Bowl are all kept safely locked away in my mind. “Let’s Go!...Hokies!” and the choruses of “Hoooooooooooooo” all growing stronger as we piled out of stadiums. The ramps quivering. The stadiums bowing to us. Times of victory and celebration.

Not so much now. It seems as if the one prize that will fulfill us remains as an unapproachable Holy Grail. Before the game yesterday, there was a glimmer of anticipation, more like a reflexive collective act. We bobbed up and down, but not so much. We screamed for our team, but not so much. We got upset, but not so much. When Kenny Lewis ran for twenty-three yards in the first series, there was a flicker of excitement from us, but that quickly settled into grim resignation as we watched the team sputter. The flicker returned when Virgil practiced the art of Beamerball. We turned to our internal Hokie viewing guides and checked that off the list. The grim resignation, however, returned as we settled in to observe the pending implosion. The grim resignation, drilled into us by anemic, exhausted effort and unimaginative play selection, was destined to keep us company. Never to leave even when we were leading by nine points in the fourth quarter, its purple haze cast a pall over us all.

I congratulate our independent brothers and sisters from East Carolina. The world is your oyster. You earned it.

When you are trapped for almost two hours in gridlock traffic leaving a mandatory not-home game whose tickets cost more than the opposing fans’ tickets and after experiencing a surprising loss to a plucky opponent, you have plenty of time to wallow in grim resignation.

I blame Jim Weaver. Thanks Jim.