• I slip in through the wide doors. A booming thunder presses into me, I stagger backwards from the force. It takes mere seconds to adapt, but until then I have a niggling fear of turning back to my car. But that's impossible now. It's captured me, I'm caught up in whatever spider web that encircles us all.

    The air pulses, everyone taking their breaths in time, blowing sticky warmth into each others faces. The arena is closed. Fresh air is a privlege only for those standing nearest the exit, but we all revel in the stale air, the atmosphere. It's all part of the experience.

    Cool metal soaks through my pants. I complain to my companion good naturedly about the chill, but soon it's forgotten. Every time I jump and pump my fists to the air, my feet stick slightly to the ground. I avoid thinking about the bottom of my shoes for the next few days.

    Eventually the final cheer will raise, an uproar of screams and yells. Nobody can tell whether anyone's ecstatic or furious, but as we all trickle down the stairs and through the gates, we feel a sense of satisfaction. Something's happened. And we were there to witness it.