THERE'S NOTHING LIKE IT.
Always wanted to do it, but the can kept getting kicked down the road -- like ingratiating yourself toward the new neighbors you have a friendly "waving" relationship with but are too shy to talk to. Too many years have passed by, and this year was probably going to be another one. It was too good to pass up.
There's a great charm to Yappi community: I think of it as second family in some regards. I'd like to personally and publicly thank
@ogealbhain for his kind-hearted offer of two free tickets to the Elder/PC game this week that finally encouraged me to stop putting off the pilgrimage I wanted to take but never had the stones to do...
I went to
The Pit.
Folks, the reputation and what you read doesn't do the experience justice. You know it's a place you have to go to, because the pictures online and what people say about it excites you. Rich tradition, fantastic football program, and unique setting -- all of those are true, but you cannot hard-boil a landmark to those three characteristics.
Every single part of the experience is unlike any other, individually and as the sum of all parts. Now, this also requires a little bit of positive thinking -- it's not as simple or convenient as taking an exit off I-270 and getting to a lush parking lot, next to the stadium, off one main road to watch an OCC school. But, damnit, that makes the experience of The Pit that much cooler in my eyes.
If there was an Ohio HS football equivalent of going to Wrigley Field on an April Saturday, I believe I got to experience it.
GETTING TO THE PIT: A-ha! As Robert Burns penned, "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." You can plan ahead of time your route, Google Earth the streets and research where to park -- all of that makes sense to a Columbus suburbanite. Alas, you're not in Kansas anymore. You're in uncharted territory in every sense imaginable. A new adventure! I took the route that has you cut across the northern inner-ring, down 75 and shoot across west via the Harrison Avenue viaduct. Once you're in Price Hill, you're there, and when you're in the driver seat all of that planning goes
whoop out the window. Remain calm, think quick and think smart! Waze tells me to take a "LEFT ON BEECH AVE" off Glenway -- lotta traffic on Glenway (a four-lane road), no left hand turn lane or protected green arrow. One car per green light can make that left hand turn (once it turns red.) I genuinely e
njoyed every minute of it. Nothing worth having comes easy! A nice change of pace.
PARKING: I missed on the garage at Seton! Darn! All good, though. I can walk, and my street smarts are B+. Parked a couple blocks away, for free, on St. Williams Ave.
THE SEATS: So, I always thought that the seating was metal bleachers. Oh, they're bleachers alright, but not metal. Concrete! A pleasant surprise -- and the pleasantry, of course, lies in the consistent theme of "there is something new to experience along the adventure" underlying the trip.
THE ATMOSPHERE: This is Elder’s centennial year. The school was founded in 1922. First home game of the year. It felt like thousands and thousands of Elder faithful were making their way in. There very well may have been that many! A sea of purple everywhere you looked.
Was it loud? Yes. But what was louder was the visible sense of loyalty and pride beyond measure. In the backdrop beyond the unenclosed end of the school is Elder HS. Between the perimeter of the facility and the school are lines of people watching from the alley.
An electrifying and mesmerizing experience in every capacity for this neutral observer. An odyssey unlike any other, at a facility fantastic in every regard, one that I’ll never forget and one that I’m glad I finally stoned up to taking. Special thanks again to
@ogealbhain for his tickets — he couldn’t make it for the game, and thought I could put them to good use. The thoughtfulness of the gesture underscores the point of community that shapes all of our experiences and fervor for not just the game, but the gift of breaking bread with friends and strangers alike.
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