An afternoon in 'The Phog'

Our trip began early Saturday morning.

At around 6:30 am, we pulled out of Stillwater, a city and university known for its rich history in basketball and Gallagher-Iba Arena, "The rowdiest arena in the country."

As we pulled away from the town recently nicknamed "Lob Stilly", we headed for north for Oklahoma State's matchup with the Kansas Jayhawks.

Their arena, known as Phog Allen Fieldhouse or "The Phog", is very similar to the Cowboys' home court of the past.

But there's only one difference between the past deafening GIA crowds and the ruthless Fieldhouse— Only one seems to still consistently exist.

I had heard stories of the legendary court growing up, and my mind raced with anticipation and eagerness as I prepared myself for the experience I was about to have.

After a four-hour drive that seemed to last forty years, we arrived in Lawrence, Kansas, located in the heart of the Sunflower State

We took a quick tour of the campus, but our minds were elsewhere. Eventually we headed into the arena to find something that seemed less like a 57 year old basketball gym and more like a scene from a movie.

We saw red stairs that seemed to stretch up from the court into forever, almost as if former Jayhawks Phog Allen, Wilt Chamberlain, Danny Manning and many others had literally climbed the worn, wooden steps until they reached the college basketball heavens.

Blue benches shaped the grandstands that would eventually hold a standing room only crowd, a crowd that showed up more than two hours early.

All of the old-timey pieces of the arena were complimented by new touches. A few plasma screen's above the exits here, a four sided LCD scoreboard there, and eventually the 16,300 fans that had packed Allen Fieldhouse to the rafters rose to their feet to welcome their Jayhawks onto the floor.

Every member of press row cast a nervous glance at each other as we felt our eardrums vibrate at a nervous pace.

"This is the kind of atmosphere you want to play in," senior Keiton Page said. "It's the type of games you dream of as a little kid, coming into Lawrence to a packed gym as rowdy as it was."

For forty minutes, Allen Fieldhouse unleashed hell on the ears of everyone in the arena, living and dying by every call made on the floor.

They acted as if nothing else in the world mattered. Not one fan seemed worried about upcoming elections or blizzards barreling their way towards the middle of the United States.

All that mattered was basketball.

"Allen Fieldhouse is one of the most energetic places on earth," said Vince Gerstner, a mechanical engineering student at Kansas. "Even the older people who sit in the expensive seats are standing and screaming for most of the game. There's nothing like it."

Instead of going hoarse as the game carried on, the crowd's voices grew stronger.

Their Jayhawks scored, rebounded and blocked shots, and each time they did so the crowd exploded into a louder than the previous, crazed celebration of a small victory.

"We've talked about this place," Oklahoma State coach Travis Ford said. "You try to embrace it as much as you can, but it always gets to you a little bit. This is obviously one of the best arenas in the country."

Just as I began expecting blood to start dripping down my earlobes, the clock read 1:00. The Pokes were trailing 79-62, and the fans knew what to do.

Page, Markel Brown and Le'Bryan Nash tried to desperately to somehow fill the 17 point void, but it didn't matter.

The fans, as if they had practice for hours the night before, began singing.

 "Rock Chalk… Jay-hawk… K-U…"

Over and over again the chant rang out as if the masses were singing out to every former player who sat on their throne in college basketball heaven.

But it didn't just serve as a reminder of the crowd's overwhelming school spirit. It also served another purpose.

The hymn was a eulogy, escorting the Cowboys to the grave as they quietly accepted the day's defeat.

The final buzzer rang as fans celebrated and alumni hugged. The Jayhawks had recorded another chapter in the friendly rivalry between the two schools.

Blue and red filed out of the exits, sticking around for over an hour after the game for autographs and pictures by their team's locker room.

While this went on, I found a corner in the work room to go over what I had just experienced.

As I frantically tried to figure out how I was going to explain it, a memory popped into my head.

High above the five national championship banners displayed at the top of the arena was a sign, nestled among the rafters as if it were hiding from the chilling wind on the other side of the walls.

The sign, though small, perfectly explained the exposure I had just had to this phenomenon of a basketball game.

It read "Pay heed, all who enter. Beware of The Phog."

Well said, Allen Fieldhouse. I now understand.