“STORMING
THE COURT / SWARMING THE FIELD”
“Eleven conferences -- the Atlantic 10, Big East, Big South, Big Ten, Big 12, Conference USA, Mid-Eastern Athletic, Pac-12, WAC, Southeastern and West Coast -- recently told ESPN that a home school with a post-game celebratory court storm could be subject to a fine under certain circumstances. Some have precise penalties, while others have general language regarding disciplinary measures and their applicability.” – ESPN.com
I love watching fans storm a court or swarm a
field after a big win. The primal, elemental, and spontaneous outpouring of
joyous humanity celebrating a special sport triumph always moves me.
Watch the end of the movie hoop classic
“Hoosiers” when the Hickory High fans storm the court to embrace their heroes.
Or the old Boston Garden after “Havlicek stole the ball!” Or Fenway Park on
that magical October 1, 1967, after Rico Petrocelli caught a popup setting up
the BoSox for their first World Series in decades. Six-foot-6 pitcher Jim
Lonborg was swept away to centerfield and a mad mosh-pit of delirium.
Primal. Elemental. Joyous.
There are, of course, dangers when waves of
humanity are unleashed, overpowering 70-year-old ushers and the lone security
cop. Mob mentalities take effect. Havlicek was battered and bruised by fans
after he stole the ball. He called them “ruffians.” Lonborg’s uniform was
ripped to shreds. I’m sure that today in various New England locales,
grandfathers share pieces of cloth with their progeny, explaining “This is what
Jim Lonborg wore when he pitched the Sox to the pennant in 1967.”
Seriously.
And when those gridiron goalposts come down,
they can injure even the most hard-headed football fan.
Hence the need for court storm policies.
“This is why we can’t have nice things,
people!”
These outpourings, these court storms, aren’t
entirely spontaneous. When the Celtics beat the Lakers at the Garden in 1984
for the NBA title, fans surrounded the court for a while before the final
buzzer, waiting to pounce.
On the college level, one can be sure that
ne’er-do-wells have court storm strategies that involve not hoisting a hoopster
but hugging a cheerleader. Truth.
But for the most part the joyous storms and
swarms are unscripted. Who knew Havlicek was going to steal the ball?
Next month marks the 50th
anniversary of Hank Aaron breaking Babe Ruth’s career home run mark. Film/video
of that milestone moment in Atlanta will be shown everywhere. And accompanying
Aaron on his historic round trip you’ll see Britt Gaston and Cliff
Courtenay. The two Brave fans were only 17 when
they ran onto the field from the first-base stands and caught up with Aaron.
Now Britt and Cliff are immortal. They even made this column five decades later.
Court
storms and field swarms are de rigueur everywhere at countless high school
championship events. Players, parents, and peers no doubt dream of that
ultimate title moment marked by Gatorade showers and heroes hoisted in
celebration.
Like
so many others, I also dreamed of such a moment. But most of us never taste that
sweet championship nectar.
My
high school senior year saw me and my Groveton High School Purple Eagle
basketball teammates in a state tournament semifinal game at Plymouth State,
trying for a spot in the title tilt. Half the gym was purple, as busloads of
fans came down from the North Country. Sadly, we fell way behind, 27-12.
Still,
in the second half we chipped away at the lead and the purple clad folks took
heart. Closer and closer we came and louder and louder were the GHS fans. I
remember scoring in the last minute to cut the lead to 47-46 as the gym
exploded. A dam was about to break to release a purple flood onto the floor.
But we
ran out of time. The white-clad players enjoyed a court storm as the purple
rain fell not.
I
stood watching the other team get swarmed while a lone figure hurried to me
from the purple side—tears streaming down her face. Her back to the
celebration, my girlfriend offered a very public embrace. I’ll always remember
that.
So,
most athletes never experience a court storm. But sometimes kids offer
opportunities for parents to vicariously experience “swarm joy” when offspring
win titles denied to their dads and moms. When my daughter’s Concord High
School softball team won a state championship, I (thankfully) did not run out
and leap onto the growing pile of players celebrating a title. But that was
also, in a way, my storm/swarm moment as well.
And,
upon further review, perhaps the lonely gesture of a teary hug offered to a
losing basketball player is perhaps of equal—if not more—value than a leap into
that fleeting mosh pit of sports joy experienced by that happy few band of
brothers (or sisters) fortunate enough to grab sports’ ever-so-elusive brass
rings.
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John Havlicek
Hank Aaron
