French philosopher Andre Gide said, “It is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not.”

I am a Cyclone, and when I am at the Illini hockey arena, I am hated.

Last weekend, I went to Champaign, Ill., for a hockey series between ISU and Illinois. I think it is the first time I have ever visited an American town with a name synonymous with an intoxicating beverage.

I am guessing the students drink lots of “Champaign” because the hockey fans there are out of control. The schmack these Illinois supporters talk should not be talked unless one is slightly or considerably drunk or terribly obnoxious. I reckon it was both.

To the satisfaction of any Cyclone at the Friday match, the Illini hockey team could not walk what its crowd had talked. Our hockey team whipped the puck out of them. This 6-3 Cyclone victory was the Illini’s first home loss.

Though I was forewarned about the Illinois arena experience, I had no idea it would be like that.

After sitting in a standard model cornflower blue GSB van for six and a half hours with the pep band (which carried friendly people and three guys with the belching power of a major nuclear explosion), I was ready to watch some hockey.

We arrived on time, sort of. The game started at 7:30, and we arrived at 7:27 after getting lost only once. Being the oldest woman in our van, I stepped into the leadership role and convinced our student driver to stop and allow me to ask for directions.

Obeying only traffic signs that didn’t interfere with our mapped-out route, we found the arena. With a reporter’s notebook in hand, I sneaked my way up to the front of the 200-person line and weaseled my way past a rink employee.

I started my game observation near the team bench. I could feel the energy and hatred growing as the people filed into the high-class facility at which Bonnie Blair had trained.

Soon, the party started. “Welcome to the main event” blared over the sound system. Then came the announcer and the introduction of Cyclone players. I didn’t know this before, but all our players have the last name “Yousuck.” After the introduction of our coaches, I found out that our coaches share the last name of “Yousucktoo.”

The energy involved created an almost dangerous atmosphere. They absolutely hated us. It was truly delightful.

After a period alone near the ISU bench, I sought a “safe zone.” I went to sit with the ISU cheerleaders, hockey players’ girlfriends and parents and the designated Illini headbanger.

The headbanger — he was not really part of the safe zone, he was across the aisle. He sucked. He swallowed. Oops. I guess those are things their crowd said our cheerleaders do. My mistake.

This headbanger wore an Illini jersey. Whenever music filled the rink, he let down his ponytail, attached his hands to the railing and went nuts. He tapped his foot and threw his head to “Stroke me” or whatever tune was playing. Meanwhile, I watched and waited to see if his neck would snap off or he would knock his melon on the railing.

Whenever the music ended, the headbanger took a bow and extended his hands up in the Beavis and Butthead “rock-out” hand gestures. The crowd always cheered. Before repositioning his arse in aisle four, he dished a four-letter expletive to the Cyclone crowd and put his fat glasses on his face and his hair back into a ponytail.

I couldn’t help but laugh. With the opening of any classic rock tune song, he never failed to take his position by the railing.

Sticking to the Illini catch phrase, the crowd flashed us signs that spelled out “you suck.” They also sent a couple of Illini weirdos to our corner to persuade the ISU cheerleaders to hang out with the Illinois students.

Although their cheerleading skirts are small, their brain capacities aren’t. Plus, the earlier sucking and swallowing comments weren’t exactly complimentary. Hence, the women decided to stay where they wouldn’t be physically harassed.

As it became clear in the third period that ISU was going to win, the Illini crowd became somber (or sober). Our cheerleaders and pep band outshouted the 1,200 others in the rink.

To celebrate the win, the team, parents, girlfriends, the pep band and I went to some pizza joint at 216 Green St. (Mmmm, delicious.) Then, the bus driver took us for a city tour in order to find a bridge that he could fit the bus under. We eventually made it back to the hotel.

On Saturday, the pep band left and I joined the team and cheerleaders for warm-ups and continental breakfast. Continental breakfast. I hate that. Personally, I have always found the term misleading. You think continental, okay, continent. And a continent is a big place, so naturally this must be a big breakfast — big enough to cover a large land mass. Not true.

After two cups of cereal, we did homework by the pool. People on the team actually do homework when they aren’t throwing the rookies into the water. Later we left for some buffet (which had the mount of food I imagine a continental breakfast should have) for an afternoon supper.

To kill time, the team, cheerleaders, coaches and I went to see “Good Will Hunting.” From there, we headed to the arena for the second game of the series.

We found out that we still sucked (and swallowed) and that our goalie is a Communist homo who is to blame every time Illinois scores. (I am sure his girlfriend was thrilled to learn these things about Rob.)

The actual game was a little tougher and rougher and ended unfavorably for ISU. I still enjoyed the outrageous crowd and the designated headbanger. A few more “you sucks,” lots of penalties and the buzzer rang. We lost and we left.

After a hamburger stop and two bad movies, the bus arrived at 7:30 a.m. in Ames — the place where Cyclones are loved.

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Amanda Fier is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Davenport.