The day has finally come. Donning his crimson and white, he begins that fateful trek across the river.

All of his training and preparation have come to this, and he knows that upon entering that stadium, he will be amongst the ranks of the great men and women that have come before him.

Today is yet another day that he will serve John Harvard.

This is the life of a Crimson superfan.

While there are a handful of school-spirit aficionados sprinkled throughout Harvard’s hallowed halls, the superfan is an elite individual that takes sports-watching to a new level.

This select category is more exclusive than the Porcellian, therefore a quick comparison between normal fandom and its enhanced version is necessary.

A fan goes to a sporting event. She claps along to the “Defense” and “Let’s Go Harvard” cheers, wearing her Crimson Crazies shirt proudly.

She hums along to the Harvard fight song, but her knowledge of the actual words probably stops with the beginning line.

In contrast, a superfan is an event himself.

In addition to the basic chants, he comes up with such favorites as “Nuts and bolts, we got screwed!” What parts of him that are clothed are in crimson and white, yet don’t be surprised to hear him yelling out every “Illegitimum non Carborundum” of “10,000 Men” with little on but body paint.

But with frequently-empty stands and a student body that often chooses Lamont over Lavietes, what inspires these school-spirited outliers to enter the ranks of superfandom?

Surprisingly, the answer is often empathy.

“We know what it feels like to have an empty gym,” said junior women’s basketball captain Claire Wheeler. “A packed gym helps—you can feed off of the energy from the people in the stands.”

The women’s basketball team, which finished 11-4 in its conference last season, often had to endure a visitor’s section that was louder and fuller than its own student bleachers.

Wheeler and her team have worked to prevent a similar fate at many of the Crimson football team’s high-stakes games, transforming from players to spectator superheroes.

“When we’re there, we act unified,” said Wheeler, whose teammates are frequently spotted using their stomachs as a human poster. “When someone acts crazy, it’s like a fever that rushes through us.”

Superfandom flows through the veins of other students, as well.

The men’s lacrosse team has been known to strip and chant “No-tee O.T.” when the Ivy League champion women’s soccer team enters overtime, and roommates and friends of the men’s soccer players are likely to be the best hecklers in Cambridge.

In addition, at this year’s Halloween football game, Harvard’s trouncing of Dartmouth may have been less memorable than a new, unknown mascot, who consistently appeared on the Jumbotron completely hidden in a suit of crimson spandex.

One renowned pair of superfans have sadly left the Harvard undergraduate community, leaving basketball fans wondering who will take the place of the infamous “whiteboard guys.”

This pair of 2008 Harvard football alumni, Matt Schindel and Andrew Brecher, made a name for themselves not only by being two of the only students to attend more than one Crimson basketball game.

Their main claim to fame was the whiteboard they brought with them to each game that served as a constantly-changing poster and source of visual heckling.

“I went to a lot of games back then,” Schindel reminisced of his time as a Harvard superfan. “[Superfandom’s] really important in terms of just showing support, and especially in a small place that doesn’t get many fans, you can hear everything.”

Harvard may never be able to turn sporting events into the social scene they are on other campuses or see filled stadiums of crimson-clad undergraduates during a game that isn’t synonymous with blacking out.

However, as crimson-spandex guy and the women’s basketball team have showed, superfandom at Harvard is both possible and appreciated.

With scores of sporting events this weekend—men’s soccer takes on Penn for the Ivy League title, football battles the undefeated Quakers for a its share of a three-peat Ancient Eight crown, and men’s and women’s hoops kick off their seasons—the choice is simple. Put down that Life Sci 1a book, grab some face paint and get across the river—that’s what the curve is for anyways.

—Staff writer Alexandra J. Mihalek can be reached at amihalek@fas.harvard.edu.