The moment my roommate and I stepped outside of our residence hall, we both knew it.

There was something in the air.

Drums were banging, horns were singing and the people were talking. Together, they ignited a new feeling in my chest — it was something that quickly spread to my heart and made a place for itself. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced before. There wasn’t even a right way to describe it, but I knew exactly what it was.

It was the first spark of my Illini Pride.

We dodged traffic across Peabody Drive and spilled into a sea of Orange and Blue enthusiasts. There was no chance of missing the stadium. It was one of the largest and grandest buildings on the Illinois campus, and even from the outside you could see the history that had been carved into its high walls.   

It wasn’t long before we reached the front entrance and outstretched lot packed full of tailgaters from all around. The charcoal scent seeped from the grills, carrying with them the slightest aroma of the brats and burgers that lay cooking on their tops. People were laughing and playing and drinking. And I felt something again, this feeling not all that familiar.

Where does a small-town freshman fit into all of this?

I looked around at all of the loyalty and comradery — a brotherhood that seemed to bear a bonding oath between those who “bled” orange and blue. I couldn’t see any way that I’d ever be a part of this. What would they all think of me as I walked in, donning a large “I” on my shirt? After all, who was I to them? I didn’t know much background. I’d only ever been to one game. I had only just become a part of Illinois — and a poor part at that.

I thought about going back to the dorm and hiding, but then what would my new roommate think? The only option I had was to just swallow my doubts and keep on past the gate. It wouldn’t be so intimidating once we got to our seats, I kept telling myself. Slowly, I started to feel better about myself and fell back to focusing on my pride for the Fighting Illini. But when we rounded the corner and looked up, I remembered where our seats were, and it made me revert back to the scared, wide-eyed freshman who felt like he didn’t belong.

I guess I should have expected that for my first encounter with the Block I.

It looked high — way higher than it actually was. Maybe it was the sound of the Marching Illini below me or how far away the barbecue smelled, but it seemed like every fan in Illini gear was towering over me. But I took that first step because that feeling inside told me to take it.

I found us a place on the metal bleachers in the middle of the left section, as there wasn’t any designation to the seats. We had people in front of and behind us, but we sat secluded in our row. It didn’t last long, though. A pack of guys and girls crowded in and forced us almost shoulder to shoulder until we were surrounded by new faces on all sides.

I wanted to be mad, but I was too focused on the crisp grass of the field. My eyes moved over the white lines enclosing the orange endzone and found the “I” down the center of the 50-yard line. There had to be something I was missing — something more than an awkward attempt to fit in. I couldn’t put my finger on it, though. As the scoreboard screen came to life, I wondered, “What was making everyone here feel like they belonged?” What was there beyond just being classmates and roommates? Where did we stop feeling apart and start being together?

And then, as if to stop my questions in their tracks, the Illini nation roared.

My head went on a swivel. The crowd was coming alive and so was I. I can’t explain what happened in that moment any more than I can explain the feeling I got when I stepped outside that day. It was like every ounce of excitement had raced to the surface, shaking me from the inside. The shirt I wore spawned new meaning, and the color seemed more prominent than an everyday shade of orange.

My eyes found the guy to my left — someone I’d never met before. He was grinning at me and in an instinctive response, I back at him. But it was just because of the energetic charge I could feel in the air. It was because of a feeling of belonging that I could finally understand. It was a sense of pride not of where we came from, but where we were now. Screaming and cheering until long after our lungs wanted to quit, but doing so together, because we were separate no longer. It was our shared desire to stand as one body and raged on against the opposition. This was more than just fans at a football game.

This was Illinois, and I had just been inducted for life.

J.J. is a sophomore in Media. He can be reached at [email protected].