By that standard, Mackey Arena should be considered one of the best in the country. From the outside you'd look at it and say, "this is definitely a basketball arena." The concourses will neither wow you nor gross you out. The interior is perfectly round, steeply sloped, and way too dark. The ceiling consists of a gigantic steel spiderweb-looking thing (which appeals quite a bit to someone like me) that someone probably put up decades ago, thinking, "well, at least it will keep the roof in place."
Home of Purdue Blog
But despite it's uninspiring appearance, Mackey was rocking last Thursday. I'm grading on a curve because any arena featuring a top 5 team playing arguably their biggest home game of the season is going to be insane, but it did not disappoint. We were so high up, our view was nearly blocked by some Big Ten championship banners, but we were still shoulder to shoulder on the hard metal benches. The student section fills both areas behind the basket all the way to the spiderweb ceiling, and they are loud, energetic, and quite organized. Overall, it's pretty much exactly what you're looking for in a college basketball experience, although nothing jumped out to me as quirky or unexplainable like the list of things I experienced at Camp Randall.
Except one.
As you may know, Purdue's sidelines are patrolled by the notorious hell-demon known as Purdue Pete. If you don't remember him, allow me to jog your memory:
Getty Images
He swings a hammer, dances around, and stares you down with the cold, unblinking gaze of a serial killer. But at Thursday's game, I had another thought about this monster that I now can't get out of my head. It started with a simple question: "doesn't he usually wear a black helmet?" (he was wearing gold at this game). The Purdue grad I came with wasn't sure, so I started doing some Google image searches (a horrible idea, but I had to find out). He does switch helmet colors, and he even switches uniforms depending on what sport he's at and what color the team is wearing. For this game, he was sporting a gray Purdue basketball uniform to go with his shiny gold helmet.
So it turns out Purdue Pete has multiple outfits; so what? My next discovery was even more concerning:
Boilermaker Traditions
These are definitely not the same being. Clearly different creatures have been designated as Pete over the years, and we are only experiencing the most recent incarnation. But then it gets worse:
Purdue University
THERE ARE CLONES?? Identical triplets? Some sort of ancient pattern of regeneration? Who are you, Purdue Pete? You're defined not by any physical or outfit characteristics. The only commonality is that you wear a hard hat and Purdue gear. But I sat one section over from the Paint Crew, and I saw a lot of people that fit that description! Are they all Purdue Pete? What if he only wears Purdue gear to Purdue games (like many do), and he's just a guy with a hammer? Are you, dear reader, a guy who owns a hammer? For all we know, you could be Purdue Pete. There's clearly opportunities for a seemingly infinite number of Petes. Am I Purdue Pete? I certainly don't think so, but at this point I think it's fair to say we can't be 100% certain. We don't even know for sure what he does for a day job. Does he make trains? Work on a railroad? Operate a train? The world may never know.
Now I'm wondering if he exists outside the world of Purdue athletics. If that's the case, we'd be living in constant fear of a Pete attack, not knowing where he truly dwells. What if he isn't strictly a Purdue fan? Lots of people have multiple allegiances, and he could be no different. Maybe he went to undergrad at Purdue and then got some sort of advanced degree somewhere else, like say, Nebraska?
Nebraska University
Oh no.
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