Glendale, Ariz. – The lead singer of the God-awful cover band on the main stage at the BCS block party on Saturday said it best:

“There’s a whole lotta red out there.”

A whole lotta red indeed. Our 7 a.m. flight out of Indianapolis was drenched in more scarlet than the gauze wrapped around a gunshot wound. After driving through the night to reach Indianapolis International at about 3:30 a.m., we expected to find an empty concourse save for a few Starbucks employees. What we found instead made this reporter realize once and for all that there’s nothing quite like a Buckeye fan.

Curled up on a patch of “carpet” laid directly over concrete, trying to get two minutes of shuteye before departing to the land of cacti, red mountains and Steve Nash, my futile attempt at rest was interrupted by a steady stream of Buckeye Corner-shopping Ohioans, equally exhausted but nevertheless giddy about their four-hour flight jammed in a Southwest airliner more suitable to transport a flock of midgets than a girthy gaggle of Midwesterners.

But in they came, one by one, acknowledging each other’s presence with muffled “Go Bucks” as they passed. The unspoken bond between Ohio State football fans alive and thriving at 4 a.m. in a crappy airport in a state famous for basketball success and football failure.

But that’s just the way it is. Of course I’ve heard stories of the Buckeye version of Sherman’s March through Phoenix, but never before had I been able to take it all in myself. Never before had I seen a city so overwhelmed with pale-skinned, overweight, beer-guzzling visitors. Never before had I realized the cheesy motto concocted by OSU – “The Best Damn Fans in the Land” – rings so true.

So I can only imagine what the “Brown-Eyed Girl”-singing cowboy at the block party must have thought as he gazed out into the sun-beaten field in front of him. For every 10 buckeye- necklace-wearing, Budweiser-sipping, O-H-I-O chanting Ohioans, out popped an orange and blue clad Gator. For every 20 merchant stands blaring “Buckeye Battle Cry” from a boom box behind a T-shirt rack, there was one guy selling foam Florida helmets. For every decibel of “Go Gators,” there were 100 more for “Go Bucks.”

I realize, of course, that this time of year most Floridians aren’t so damn desperate for a warmer climate that they would sell their children to Madonna for airfare to Arizona. I know OSU has been here so often lately most travelers know their bellboys like their neighbors. I know Buckeye football means more to some than God, their mothers and sex combined.

But what I didn’t know is that Florida and the rest of the Southeastern Conference might talk a good game about having such rabid and passionate fans, but when it comes time to strip off the tie, paint their faces and spend thousands of dollars just to be in the vicinity of the National Championship game – let alone attend it – no one can compare to The Ohio State University.

“I’m a little disappointed,” said a Florida fan to a Phoenix TV reporter, as I kicked up my feet in the ridiculously posh resort the media is staying at this week. “I thought there’d be more Gators down here.”

Get used to the disappointment, buddy. Tonight ain’t gonna be any easier.

Scott Woods is a senior in journalism and sports editor at The Lantern, and a complete and total homer. He can be reached for comment at [email protected].