Real Men Don't Wear Purple to the Jungle

That was the take home message after the Bengals and Wildcats donned claws and matched stealth Saturday night.

While the "white-out" looked more like scattered flurries, Weber fans managed to make a respectable portion of the stadium seating look as though Barney erupted. Despite my displeasure at the purple spectacle, Wildcat fans deserve some respect for supporting their team and collectively cheering. That is with the exception of the crazed, thirty-something-John Lovitz-look-a-like seated two rows behind me; who reminded me more of a cobra than a wildcat as he rocketed saliva and venom over Bengal fans. Lesson learned, from now on the student section is where you'll find me!

Although being seated near him was painful, it was alsmost worth the suffering to see his expression after Austin Kilpatrick tucked away a three-pointer with only a breath left in the shot clock. Like a fire-season sunset his vein stricken, fiery face smoldred against the purple backdrop- it was beautiful.

While a sizeable portion of the game for me was spent plotting various methods for silencing the boulstering section, it was ultimately the men who laid the Wildcat spirit to rest as the intense rivalry culminated in a four point victory for the Bengals.

Call it spite, malice, or vindication but there was a sick sense of satisfaction that filled me as I watched the depleated, purple section file sadly from their seats with disheartened expressions spread across their faces. Victory may be sweet, but that sour silence was inexplicably gratifying.