Is it really just another Krush?

I’d never been on an Orange Krush road trip before.

Yeah, I’d heard various quips over my three and a half years here, most centering on the “you’re not a fan ‘til you go on this trip” argument.

My editor came to me with the idea. I questioned it at first but realized last Wednesday’s contest at Iowa was only a four-hour ride and a break in a monotonous week. Count me in.

Brief side note — I’ve been working all year to become impartial. It’s tough for me — sometimes I cheer on press row, sometimes I find myself critiquing the game aloud, then being stared at by “professional” writers. It’s tough to get used to when you’re as passionate as I am.

But on this trip? You could say I fit right in.

(Before I dive into this, huge thanks to Orange Krush Vice President (a misleading title — he runs the show) Matt Jones, a junior in Business, Ilini Pride senior advisor Ryan Mroz, a graduate student, Krush chair Brett Zimmerman, a senior in AHS, and last and definitely least, senior advisor Drew Logeman, a senior in LAS, for hooking this up. This trip and article wouldn’t have been possible without their help. So, if you don’t like it, blame them.)

Let’s rewind to last Wednesday, with all times approximate.

1:45 p.m. — I climb onto one of three buses, our homes for eight of the next 12 hours. Parked outside Altgeld Hall, I see students walking to class. Can’t help but think one thing: suckers.

3:00 p.m. — We settle on watching “The Hangover.” What, in fact, do tigers dream of when they take a little tiger snooze?

5:15 p.m. — All three buses stop at “Iowa 80: The World’s Largest Truck Stop,” for some pregame grub and leg-stretching. Is this heaven? No... it’s Iowa.

5:50 p.m. — Signs (and ideas for signs) are being passed around like stocks on the market floor. Among my suggestions that didn’t make the cut, for ethical reasons: “Hey coach, Lick this,” “At least you’re not Penn State,” “My dad’s a coach too,” etc. Classy, I know.

7:10 p.m. — We finally arrive at Carver-Hawkeye Arena, and 160 revved-up Krushers find their seats — a giant block in one section, right behind a basket. How did we happen to get these tickets? Well, I ask Jones about it. He says he called the day they went on sale and told them he needed a block of 160 for himself and his “co-workers.” The woman he talked to suggested some in a higher section. He asked if there was anything closer. She said, “Actually, you’re in luck — I see a block of 160 in section GG, starting in row 3.” Book it. Poor woman got Krushed.

7:20 p.m. — The Illini make their way to the floor for warmups. Some of them look at us with confusion. Others (like Mike Davis, Brandon Paul and Mike Tisdale) smile at us like we are their prom dates. Hawkeye fans in the nearby sections eye us with either love (as, finally, there is a strong student showing) or suspicion (blank stares and furrowed brows, as they attempt to decipher exactly what we are). It doesn’t help that we are booing the Illini mercilessly, as we are still dressed in our beloved black and yellow.



7:31 p.m. — The countdown — 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... and off come the costumes. Jaws hit the floor. Little girls and older women gawk at us like we each unveiled second heads. Older men stare daggers into us, as if they’re trying to cleanse our immoral souls. A rather ornery staff worker comes over and takes a sign from us that reads, “Welcome to the Orange Krush.” As the Illini approach midcourt for the opening tip, they stare at us, point and clap. This exact moment is what it’s all about.

7:48 p.m. — We’re making a total ruckus, so one little boy in the section next to us leans over and in the most helpless way screams, “SHUT UP YOU GUYS!” I wink at him.

7:56 p.m. — You can tell we are at a football school. For one, my high school has a bigger student section. Secondly, a rogue “Shonn Greene sucks!” chant receives more looks of hate than almost anything else.

8:04 p.m. — I can’t get over how close to the court I am. I mean, we’re visitors here. Usually, when Krush pulls this move, they’re in the rafters and number closer to 100. This time, 160 of us are starting on the floor. I’m pretty sure my ticket is better than Ricky Stanzi’s — assuming he bothered to come.

8:10 p.m. — I take a survey of Krush while I’m attempting to take pictures. In my surveillance, I realize that all ages and classes are represented — seems to be no bias regarding seniority. Definitely impressed by that.

8:22 p.m. — Halftime begins and leads to some of the more memorable exchanges.

An Iowa student radio guy comes over and asks us, “So, do you guys do this for all away games?”

“Nope,” we respond. “Just once a year.”

He deadpans: “Oh, great. And you pick the sucky team.”

A few minutes later, a guy wearing an Illinois hoody asks us to pose for a picture. He snaps the shot and immediately after says: “I went here. It sucks.” OK then.

8:58 p.m. — I realize just how much our presence has ignited the Iowa fans. Anytime their team does something positive, at least half of the crowd turns to us and either (a) sarcastically claps or (b) claps with a vigor as if every clap completed made a Krush member drop dead. I looked into some of their eyes — it was intense.

9:17 p.m. — A Krush member (Rachel Segal, to be precise) spots Illini recruit Chasson Randle directly behind the Iowa bench. It takes two minutes to start a “We want Ran-dle!” chant, and after about 20 seconds he looks up from his phone and smiles so big I think I see every tooth in his mouth. Another chant a few minutes later leads to the same smile. An Iowa fan near us is stunned that we knew who he was.

9:34 p.m. — The Illini squeak out a win, and we get applause rained on us from other Illinois fans in attendance, as well as the team, head coach Bruce Weber and assistant coach Jerrance Howard. This, indeed, is our house.

1:43 a.m. — The buses finally return to Altgeld, and the Krush files out like zombies. During the long ride back, I got to thinking about the Krush. How it’s lauded by anybody who comes across it. How the group has raised, since its inception, over $1.5 million for local charities. You think that’s unique for a college basketball student fan section? Well, you’d be right. Because it is. It’s very unique. It’s special.

Its membership may ebb and flow with the success on the floor, but the Orange Krush is one fine organization, and this event was a resounding success.

Next year’s trip sure has a lot to live up to.

Rich Mayor is a senior in Media. He can be reached at rmayor2@illinimedia.com.