So your first question is probably, "What's up with the title?" My middle name is Kwame, that's what's up.

Now thinking of Bowdoin's greatest sporting rivalries, Maine Maritime doesn't exactly spring to mind. Colby? Yes. Bates? Maybe. Maine Maritime? Nope.

So when I decided to go to see our men's basketball team play the Mariners, I didn't exactly expect a crazy turnout, but I expected to see a crowd at least.

Walking through Morrell Gymnasium's doors, I looked up, hoping maybe I'd see that cute girl from my rocks for jocks class. Not only was she not there, neither were the ugly girls from the class, or anyone really; the gym was practically empty.

Sure, there was the usual group of the other team's parents, who I later found out were not so nice, and a couple of sports teams doing some team bonding staggered around the gym, but barely any fans who were there on their own account.

So I tried to just brush it off and keep watching and shouting for my boy, otherwise known as the Pride of Vermont, (we'll call him PoV) to get put in the game.

Along with my chants at Coach Gilbride, which I'm not sure he really appreciates, I tried to do my part and heckle the other team. Now maybe it's just my obnoxious nature, but I'm of the opinion that at this age, fans of either team should be allowed to jeer whomever they choose and that players should be able to handle it. So armed with this idea in my head, I started thinking of some good ones.

Looking at the court, I spotted one of the Mariners' key players, and realized that the kid had a bald patch smack dab in the middle of his head.

His head took me back to that scene in "Barbershop" where Jimmy James, one of the barbers, just loses concentration and takes a chunk out of this one kids head. It was not pretty.

So where do you go from there? You got a whole lot of options really. There's the "bald eagle" chant, the "check the balding with the Spalding" line, or the simple but extremely effective "balding".

But after a quick look around, and the realization that I could hear Wyatt Little's dope free styling while he played, I got self-conscious and decided against it.

I forgot to mention, while this was all going on, we were locked in a pretty close game.

We couldn't take hold of the game, probably 'cause PoV was riding the pine.

As the minutes ticked by I decided enough was enough, the chants had to come out.

Just as this idea hit me, one of the Mariners' players dropped an absolutely beautiful air ball. So I did what every other self-respecting fan would do, started the air-ball chant. Aside from my girl on the softball team, I didn't get any support—but that's not what bothered me.

What bothered me was that the second time I brought it out, a middle aged woman, probably a mother of one of the Maritime players, just turned around and gave me one of the dirtiest looks I had ever seen—so dirty, I felt like she hadn't washed that look in weeks.

But along with the look came some words that I just wasn't ready for, "Oh go f*** yourself." I was shocked, scarred and shocked again.

I didn't open my mouth again for the rest of the game, and yes, that means I was breathing only through my nose.

Now, while I understand that Bowdoin students have other things to do on a Tuesday afternoon, more students need to get to some games. One, so that opposing players start feeling the need to get their hair cut properly, (if they need tips tell them to contact Tim's Trims in Coleman) and two, arguably more importantly, so that next time there is an actual crowd for the middle-aged woman (let's just call her old) to curse out.