Before March 2, when the new Biermann Athletic Center opened to campus, athletes alone were privy to it – tennis, track, and volleyball. But this did not last.
Arriving that afternoon, I see royal blue balloons, and a purple sign that says “WELCOME TO BIERMANN” in big white letters; I hear the reverberating synth-beats of modern pop; and I smell the rubbery, new-car scent that has clung to the facility since Monday, but mixed today with a grilled chicken odor that tells me Saga, Inc., relocated.
To my left stand a couple of festival-style tents stuffed with food; to my right, a couple of fold-tables, with white plastic covering, against the balcony’s railing. In the narrow walkway in between, I swerve through a sea of faces – students, donors, Dr. Arnn.
After snacking on some chicken Caesar salad – and noticing the already dirtied carpet floors – I descend one of two parallel flights of stairs. At another desk, I’m asked if I came from outside or from lunch; I say from lunch, and can go in.
I see that others aren’t so lucky; strewn about are dozens of pairs of shoes.
That’s when I realize – this building is a church, a temple, even.
Pseudo-stained glass windows at the front and rear, steeple design, balcony overlook, taking off shoes before entering – where else do you do that? But if it’s a temple, to whom is it sacred? Some track athletes give an idea.
“Stay off the Mondo,” says senior Matt Van Egmond, referring to the new track’s surface material. He says only one other surface in the world – the London Olympics track – shares the material. “I don’t like it. It sucks,” says senior Brett Dailey, when asked his feelings about the event. “Why are they on our track?” asks freshman William Karimatsenga when posed the same query.
Another realization: this building is sacred to them. They are its priests. They guard it jealously, resent its defilement by dirt and food. And they’ve assembled for games to defend it.
They are “Dirty Mo and the Boys,” and victory is their goal; dodgeball, their first challenge. Game one is an easy win over Delta Tau Delta, over in two matches. The second game is more of a challenge; defeat appears imminent, but junior Jared Van Dyke, alone against five, secures his team’s victory.
“Today was a day to defend our precious homeland – to fight for truth, justice, freedom, and the American way,” says Jared after his triumph. “We came to assert the dominance of our glorious sport. It would be very not good for any other team to win this today.”
Between games, I wander. One student struts with a shirt bearing a fuel gauge measuring “SWAG” at full; another, a shirt that reads “Call me maybe” in a swirling, candyish combination of bright pinks, blues, and yellows against black. Students play on a makeshift volleyball court. Some on the track achieve an impressive succession of headbutts with a volleyball; others, amateur runners, circle the track – both against Van Egmond’s wishes.
Chief Rogers watches one of the dodgeball games, commentating:
“Watch out for flying balls.”
“Hit him in the foot!”
“Does the hair count? That’s why I shave down low.”
“Is that the guy from ‘Duck Dynasty’?”
As he watches, I ask him what he thinks of the event.
“Just look at everybody, at the excitement in their faces. It tells you something about campus that we have non-traditional NCAA athletes here, we have the athletes and students that support them playing together,” he says. “Extracurriculars bond people together. We want all students to bond together. This is a college. It’s a partnership.”
At the water fountain, positioned right in the middle of the two stairs, tired and sweaty students replenish themselves. I ask them why they’re here. “I came here so that I could,” says sophomore Wes Right, in between sips of water, “check out the new facilities and play sportsball.”
“I wanted to do it because it’s exciting when a new building opens on our campus. It adds a lot more to it,” says junior Jackie Baracco. “I’m glad to be a part of this opening.”
Back at the dodgeball courts, copies of “How To Read Latin,” and “Paradise Lost” are laid next to water bottles and match schedules. Sophomore Heather Lantis, who earlier said she came to “compete in some healthy competition, and to beat my brother Scott Lantis” faces junior football player David Galginaitis one-on-one. One football player drops a ball thrown to his hands; a teammate upbraids him: “John, you’re a receiver!”
Senior Elizabeth Brady, the last woman standing of a Catholic Society Team, faces down a whole team. “Let he who is without sin cast the first ball!” I yell, but they’re all of Immaculata. The Catholic team loses – no pope, no hope.
Rested, Dirty Mo and the Boys face the Sigma Chi pledge team. Junior Elliot Murphy launches a ball at an opponent, himself ready to let loose a volley; the ball strikes his foe in the arm, and he relinquishes the ball and retreats, defeated. Another victory. Junior Justin Fawley backflips in celebration.
But then, Dirty Mo face Sun’s Out Guns Out, mostly football players. Dirty Mo loses the first and third matches, giving jubilation to SOGO: high-fives, victory sprints, and chest-bumps all around. Dejected, Dirty Mo huddle for a comeback – a volleyball game against SOGO. This, too, ends in defeat.
After retreating to the men’s locker room, that holy of holies which now alone athletes claim, departure begins. As we leave, a student bounces a volleyball off some dentable gray aluminum siding. “Don’t bounce it off the aluminum!” says Elliot. Head Track Coach Jeff Forino repeats. I take in a big whiff of the building: the new, rubbery smell lingers, but a grilled chicken odor dominates. Dirty footprints lead from the front door to the track.
In the parking lot, we consider the student’s damage. “But,” says Forino, “it’s not really our building.”