I just wanted to go to a hockey game.

The ice at Norfolk Scope.

I was looking to drink overpriced beers with Jesse, enjoy a sport in which men slam one another into plexiglass walls and, for lack of a better term, just be “dudes.” Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the most qualified to step up as AltDaily’s sports writer. I mean, I get sports, but I’m not the guy that’s going to be giving you intense play-by-play action or meander profoundly about the poetry-on-ice that is hockey. I’m no Ray Barone. In fact, I know so little about sports journalism that Everybody Loves Raymond is my only point of reference. But, still, I just really wanted to go to a hockey game.

Coming from Nashville, a city with three professional franchises (yeah, soccer counts), it has been a slight adjustment for me to settle into a city with none (sorry, guys, the Redskins are DC’s team). However, I still get really excited for the energy and camaraderie that comes with the hometown pride of a sporting event. Even on an amateur level.

I went to the game hoping to stand behind the Admirals and cheer them to a glorious defeat over the Syracuse Crunch. I went in search of that sense of community that comes along with having one decent and common goal.

I guess I really didn’t go just to hang out and watch some hockey. Like everybody, I’m always hoping for more, for something Greater to emerge from the mundane flow of life. I went hoping to find some of the magic of sports.

Sadly, there wasn’t exactly a ton of magic happening in section 299, row K. Saturday’s head count was 4,598. Nothing to frown at, but the Admirals were not exactly filling the seats. And I was certainly not getting the electricity I was looking for. Section 299 was peppered with middle-aged couples, cute little nuclear families, and this little boy who kept turning in his seat to look at me every time I swore too loud.

Very pleasant people, indeed, but I didn’t go to a hockey game to be pleasant. The utter lack of enthusiasm left me sitting there politely, wondering what could possibly be behind the chain link and barbed-wire behind me, and watching Jesse update his Facebook status. I wanted to get into some hockey! I wanted to be like those people in section 215.

Karen and Tim Falice, with friend.

Section 215 was obviously where the party was; a sea of hockey jerseys, roaring spirited chants. In Section 215 was the excitement that I so craved. Through intense investigative journalism we learned that Section 215 was occupied almost exclusively by the booster club for the Syracuse Crunch. That’s right, the competition, the visiting army that had traveled nine hours to cheer our Scope down.

Nevertheless, I decided to check it out, if for no other reason than to find out what a booster club is. But I also wanted to find out what gave these fans the sense of team pride that the Norfolk fans–or at least the ones around me–seemed to lack.

Karen and Tim Falice came all the way from Syracuse on a charter bus with 35 other avid Crunch fans in order to cheer them on against the Admirals. And they were certainly having the time of their lives. I asked Karen how a Norfolk game compared to one in her neck of the woods. For starters, Karen told me that a Crunch game averages 5,700 to 6,000 in attendance and that all of those attending are passionate about the team.

Rebecca Syzmanoski, who relocated from Syracuse to Williamsburg, confirmed that should we have interviewed her hometown arena, she wouldn’t be able to hear us. “It’s a lot louder back home” seemed to be the consensus among Crunch fans. Rebecca also suggested that more fans would come to games if our very own Jesse Scaccia would take his shirt off and dance for the crowds. Apparently, in Syracuse’s arena (affectionally known as The Barn), there’s a fella they call “Big Sexy” who does just that. (Someone obviously thinks Jesse has the goods to be our own Big Sexy. I support this decision.)

A booster club, I learned, is a very devoted and elite team of super fans that does terribly sweet things for their team such as bake them cookies for long bus rides, sell team pins and organize the 50/50 raffle to raise money for charity, make Christmas dinner for the players and even more serious things like organize corporate sponsorships and plan events. These 37 people who had chartered a bus from New York for two hockey games, for instance, are a booster club. Norfolk has a booster club as well, but they didn’t seem to be as apparent that evening.

Buttons from the Admirals' boosters' table.

To be fair, the people of Syracuse have an unfair hockey advantage over us. I mean, they’re damn-near Canadians up there. Even Betty Hicks, my favorite Crunch booster, verified that they breathe hockey up there.

“It’s constant hockey,” she told me. “Hockey’s in our system. Kids play hockey all year long…” You get the picture.

These Crunch fans didn’t have the worst suggestions for Norfolk. Of course there was shirtless Jesse, but there were also sensible suggestions like more to do for the kids in the arena, more contests and giveaways, something about chicken tenders and, of course, a kiss-cam. People do love a kiss-cam.

In the end, though, I had to give it up to my fellow Admirals fans. The last five minutes of this one-point game the home-town fans really came alive. Not only were the boys on the ice getting their hustle on, but the crowd was on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs for their boys to pull it out. They didn’t, unfortunately, but Section 215 sure was nervous for five solid minutes.