The joyful noise of Washington- Grizzly Stadium wasn't enough to rattle the scrappers from South Carolina.
Not that Griz Nation didn't blow a tonsil or two hundred in the effort. Down a few thousand souls due to the Thanksgiving holiday, 19,761 of them kept the house ringing right up to the final four seconds, when Grizzly Dan Carpenter's field goal attempt went wide and the score was stuck: Wofford 23, Montana 22.
Longtime Griz fan Charlie Smith put the stadium itself to use in getting around the noisemaker ban. Sitting on the sidelines with his father, Pete, the Smiths would kick the metal guardrail bracket to make a penetrating clang. They've been banging since they started coming to games in 1996.
“When we lose our voices, we kick the rail,” Charlie shouted late in the first quarter, a rasp already building in his throat. “I'd like to see more people do it. Sometimes I'm the only one who does.”
Gail Leeper of Drummond said she was usually able to yell all through the game. That's because she'd mastered a two-fingered whistle that could be heard across the field.
“I learned it when I was grounded when I was a kid,” Leeper said. “I don't lose my voice, but I do get quite a few head-rushes.”
Security patrols discouraged the use of air horns and cowbells. But no one bothered the Grizzly Marching Band, whose instrumental influence stayed steady throughout the game. They were so loud, in fact, that fans left a six-body buffer zone alongside the performers. One exception was Erik Engebretson, who sat right next to the drum line in the south end zone.
“We're here because our daughter's in here,” Engebretson said. “I'm a band director, too. These guys are spirited. They sound great today.”
Kristen Engebretson was thumping away on the bass drum, which sounded like it could be heard all the way to the family home in Malta. But even the band couldn't compete with the never-sit-down, never-shut-up student section in the field's southeast corner.
Junior Andrew Houseman of Whitehall used a mid-range “AAARRR” drone whenever the cheerleaders put up the “NOISE” placards. He was pleased with his classmates' vigor, but added he'd heard better.
“Last year in the playoffs, when ESPN brought the Friday Night Lights, that was amazing,” Houseman said. “It was much louder than this. That whole energy of having the media in the game made it much more intense.”
Despite the students' best efforts, the Terriers punched through the din and scored a go-ahead touchdown right under their collective noses. That put them up, 17-16.
At the other end of the field, Connor Green was wearing a classic copper UM jersey that belonged to his father in the 1970s. Leaning way over the rail, he'd whistle and roar encouragement to players by name.
“I usually lose my voice for a while, but then it comes back,” Green said. “Then it goes away - C'mon baby! Over the top!”
Wide receiver Eric Allen took a break-away reception almost to the goal line and the Griz scored so quickly that the ROTC Boom Crew was almost caught napping. They got their cannon (the only NCAA-approved artificial noisemaker in the stadium) turned around as the teams were dispersing and let off the battlefield blast.
That brought the score to 22-17 Grizzlies, and unleashed a new voice on the field. Packed into a sliver section above the 10-yard-line near the northwest corner, a contingent of black-clad South Carolina Wofford fans screamed encouragement as the Terriers forced another drive down the field. With 32 seconds left in the fourth quarter, a Wofford running back went untouched into the end zone and one point ahead, 23-22.
But there was more than half a minute left to play. Some kick-off heroism gave the Griz their ball back on the 50-yard line. They pushed ahead to tricky-but-doable field-goal range.
Griz Nation, trained to tone it down when its boys need to concentrate, nevertheless released a sort of strangled growl as the kicking team lined up. It broke into a full-throated gasp as Carpenter's kick went wide.
Above it all floated the descant of the Wofford fans' screams of joy.
Reporter Rob Chaney can be reached at 523-5382 or at rchaney@missoulian.com.
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