Like many of my fellow Greyhounds, I was thrilled to attend the annual Battle of Charles Street, the famous lacrosse rivalry between our university and neighboring Johns Hopkins. I left the open house I was working at and hopped into an Uber with my friends, all donning various Loyola hats, scarves, sweatshirts, and even signs.

We arrived to find hundreds of other Loyola students and nearly no seats left in the away school seating section of the Johns Hopkins Homewood field. As I sat in the seats my friend had saved for us, I couldn’t help but notice a crucial part of the game missing—I saw barely any fans across the field in the Hopkins fan section.

I wondered why there weren’t any students there; they could have easily walked from their residence halls. This was their home field, where their own Blue Jays were playing defense and scoring goals against their opponent from right up the street. It was a Saturday around 2 pm, so it is difficult to imagine any classes going on during the game.

Loyola students waited for crowded shuttles, paid for Ubers and left early to walk to Homewood. They waited in line for crab cakes and pit beef sandwiches at the food truck area. They paid extra money to be able to go to the game. I found it odd that despite the convenience of attending the game for Hopkins students, the Greyhounds managed to outnumber Hopkins fans almost 3 to 1.

There was no pump-up music in between goals and there were no burritos flying into the crowd. There were no cheerleaders or dancers positioned through the stands. It was, quite literally, empty on the other side. Meanwhile, Loyola students were taking pictures and lining up by the sidelines just to get a closer look at the game. Even the Blue Jays mascot couldn’t excite the stadium quite like Iggy pumped up the Greyhound fans.

This proved to be an influential difference during the game. With the crowd behind them, cheering them on, our lacrosse players scored again and again, eventually beating Hopkins 18-12. While we celebrated the win back at my apartment with some snacks and a few friends, I realized that the difference for Loyola wasn’t simply better skills with a lacrosse stick.

Loyola had spirit and a formidable amount of school pride which we took all the way down Charles Street to the Hopkins campus. We showed up to the field out of love for our school and support for its athletics program. We showed up with the same fight and determination we generate at our own Ridley Athletic Complex. We showed up as a community who believed in our school and in the team and who rooted for them no matter the outcome of the game.

We brought the same pride as every Evergreen when they see their students succeed. We brought the determination of every student spending hours at the library or the Study to achieve their very best academically. We brought the purpose of every student who fights to change Loyola for the better; protesting the removal of Boulder take-out boxes and participating in walk outs to support the students of Parkland High School almost 1,000 miles away.

We bring the spirit of a senior Chime singing “O Danny Boy” during his last Chordbusters. We the students, faculty, staff, and administration of Loyola don’t bring the energy or the hype to every game and event. We don’t bring our best for a short hour. We bring something you can’t find anywhere else on campus­—we bring Loyola, proud and strong, everywhere we go. It’s difficult to imagine a better way to honor our school than to wear it on our sleeves and show the world the spirit and community that Loyola fosters.