I was at the Verizon Center yesterday for the Caps-Flyers game thanks to the generosity of a friend who gave me a ticket. We had excellent seats behind one of the goals–except for the guy sitting directly in front of us. The cow bell guy. Right before the game, he stood up and started stretching his arms. My friend (who had sat in these seats before) said, “He’s stretching so he can ring his cow bell.” I didn’t believe him. But sure enough, when the cow bell guy started shaking the bell with vigorous over-the-shoulder motions it was obvious that he wouldn’t have dared do it without some stretching. As it is, I think he still may have to get Tommy John surgery in the off-season. His fingers were taped because without protection they would have been reduced to bloody stumps through the force and frequency of his ringing.

He spent a lot of the game trying to start “Let’s go Caps!” chants with vigorous rhythmic ringing. When he wasn’t doing that, he’d shake the thing to produce a machine-gun blast of purposeless clanging. Every time Caps goalie Cristobal Huet (I never thought I’d be rooting for a guy named Cristobal) touched the puck, he’d clang out the cow-bell accompaniment to a “Hip hip Huet” cheer. After a Flyers clearing pass weakly made its way to Huet who effortlessly steered it aside with his stick, the cow bell guy would clang and scream “Hip hip Huet!” After a not particularly memorable Huet save (at least I can’t remember it), he jumped to his feet and chanted “Hip hip Huet” while doing “we’re not worthy” bows with clangs of the bell at the top and the bottom of every bow. The man had made himself into a human belfry.

At first, I was charmed by his “rock the red” spirit. Then, I got mildly annoyed. By the second period it felt as if my brain was rattling around in my head and I began to worry about hearing loss. By the time my friend pointed out the guy was ringing his bell in reaction to old highlights played on the JumboTron during breaks in play, hatred began to seep into my heart. I had been in Washington for a church-related retreat, but a weekend’s worth of first-class teaching by Tim Keller and Rick Warren all went to naught as I was consumed by vindictiveness and revenge fantasies.

By the last two or three minutes of the game, the bell had stilled. Why? Because the cow bell guy had given up, with the Caps losing 2-0. Incredibly, he had made me mildly pleased that my own team was losing. How’s that for team spirit?

I don’t want to begrudge anyone their right to ring a bell. And a loud arena is an exciting arena. But there’s got to be a better way. I suggest that, taking a page from stadiums that have some non-alcoholic seating and some seating where the beer flows, there should be a separate section for cow-bell people. I know just the place, high up in the rafters.

UPDATE: Many e-mailers point out I missed the opportunity to title this post “less cow bell.”