It's something I wanted to experience, even though I'm sure everyone in attendance would rather not do it. Because the tradition only exists because two athletes are no longer with us, their passing occurred a year apart, devastating to fans, coaches, players, player's families.
The pain remains.
The Moment of Loudness helps ease that pain.
I'd heard about it, of course, and networks would comment on it, but no one ever showed the entire event. On Saturday, I attended my first home game in years, and as the third quarter of the football game transitioned to the fourth, everyone stood and took out their cellphones.
They all knew.
Soon, so did I.
During the last quarter change, everyone stands and turns their attention to the Jumbotron. A short video plays with scenes of the team and fans. It also shows the two players, their infectious smiles...we are reminded of their talents and personalities. I get the feeling they were better people than athletes.
Then, on cue, the sound begins, building from a few, then everyone in the stadium adds their voice, their tribute as cellphone lights replace faces in the stands. Finally, the sounds of thousands of people drown out the narrator.
"It's amazing," I tell my friend who invited me.
"It's even better at night," he responds, and I can picture it in my mind. I'm sure it is.
I know of no other tradition like it anywhere in the country. Perhaps there is, and if so, it doesn't really matter. It happens on the University of Utah campus during home football games, and it's truly special.
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