The air was cold when I set out for Viejas Arena for my first San Diego State basketball game. It was dark and a light layer of fog crept over the campus. As I approached the arena footbridge, the red lights spelling out, “Aztec Recreation Center,” glowed faintly in the distance through the fog. I took my seat in the student section with five minutes until tip-off, and the big-screen hanging from the ceiling was full of spirited Aztec fans with shirts reading, “Fear the Spear” and “We Will Be Victorious.” It appeared “The Show” was already hard at work. The buzzer screeched, the lights dimmed and two SDSU logos were projected onto the court as if they were emblazoned into the hardwood. The red hue the logos gave off resembled torches. The war drums sounded, signaling the sacrifice was about to begin.
The SDSU men’s basketball team started the game against the Texas Southern University Tigers with a flurry of offense, which scored several times within the first minute of play. The entire arena—especially “The Show”—was fired up. The Aztec Warrior stood tall in front of the student section, leading his fellow warriors in what can only be described as synchronous fist-pumping perfection.
In the first half, a Tigers sophomore guard Madarious Gibbs stole the ball from the Aztecs and streaked down the court looking to score. SDSU junior guard Jamaal Franklin immediately backpedaled and chased Gibbs. As the Tiger prepared for the jumper, Franklin jumped above him and rejected the shot with a resounding “thwack.” The air that had been sucked out of the stadium because of the steal was replaced with an eruption of approval from the Aztec crowd. The team played with confidence on both sides of the ball. This continued when an Aztec player made a diving save, which ultimately put the ball in senior guard James Rahons’ hands. Rahon drilled a 3-pointer, which he seemed to know was going in long before it swished through the hoop. The rout was on: At this point, it really was looking like a sacrifice down on the court and the score was 34-16 at halftime.
Fans trickled up the stairs and made their way toward the concession stands to get their grub on. The arena filled with the irresistible smell of nacho cheese and other delectable foods. One fan stood behind me with both a heap of nachos and a big, salty pretzel. To avoid temptation meant avoiding the food stands, so I made my way to two guys hanging out a few seats to my left and introduced myself.
I met Joey Alvarez, a SDSU alumnus who attends most home games and proudly wears his black “Fear the Spear” T-shirt. But that was a little different. Alvarez sat in a manual wheelchair, his right foot propped up comfortably on the handrail while his left leg rested on the footrest of his wheelchair. With a Pepsi in one hand, he pointed down toward the floor seats and said, “Normally, I’m down there, but I tore my ACL a while back.” The culprit of his demise? A Razor scooter.
“I was just being stupid,” Alvarez said.
Regardless of his limitations, he was having a great time. On big plays, his huge hands came together, clapping like thunder. He joined “The Show” in chanting, “S-D-S-U, SDSU Aztecs Fight!” even though he was 20 rows above the court.
The start of the second half was a stark contrast to the first. Texas Southern came out of the locker room with vengeance, dropping 3-pointers like flies against the Aztecs. At one point, the Tigers came within nine points of the lead. Alvarez groaned painfully at the ease of the Texas Southern scores.
“Come on!” he yelled.
The rally didn’t last long, as SDSU regained itself on defense and got back to sinking the ball.
Speaking of which, the Aztecs sank 15-of-17 free throws during the second half of the game. My guess as to why? The finger-pointing ritual of “The Show.” Each time an Aztec walked to the free-throw line, silence fell over Viejas Arena and fingers were lifted—index fingers, of course. At first, it was one hand pointing straight out and upward. But then it changed: Fans crossed both wrists and pointed both index fingers. Maybe because the reality of “ex-ing” out the Tigers was becoming quickly attainable. Whatever the case, it worked.
As the Tigers’ time ticked away, fans slowly began leaving the arena. Warriors clad in red and black climbed to the exits swelling with pride. Alvarez bid me farewell and gave one last mighty fist pump for the Aztecs.
But there was still time left on the clock and I didn’t move until the final buzzer rung. This had been a great game (if you were a SDSU fan) but it still seemed to be missing something. That something came during the final minute.
SDSU stole the ball and had a two-on-one advantage at the opposing hoop. The ball was thrown in the air toward the hoop, and with a fine balance of finesse and power, Franklin nabbed it, twisted his body around 180 degrees and threw down a reverse dunk that came down on the rim with world-stopping force. A show-stopping play was no longer missing from this game.
On that night, I experienced Aztec pride and unity I had never seen or felt before. In the arena was a sea of red that could not be parted by a Tiger nor any other beast—a sea held together by the passion of “The Show.”
