Take six rowdy Pitt undergrads, three equally rowdy recent graduates, an unspecified quantity… Take six rowdy Pitt undergrads, three equally rowdy recent graduates, an unspecified quantity of Pabst Ice, a life-size cardboard cutout of the “leader of the free world” and a bullhorn. Mix thoroughly in a world-class sporting facility late Friday night.

Sounds like a recipe for some extreme zaniness, right?

If the facility in question is the Petersen Events Center and Friday night is Midnight Madness, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The biggest, rowdiest crowd at the Pete Friday turned out to be the horde hoping to get in on the season ticket action – not those at Midnight Madness.

I know the ticketing scheme was more convoluted than the 2000 presidential vote-counting. That’s why I didn’t bother with the lottery and consequently won’t be in those premium student seats this season.

Instead, anyone on the planet could go to the Pete for the first official practice of the Panthers’ men’s and women’s basketball teams at midnight. It’s a big celebration, a glorified pep rally complete with T-shirt giveaways and a slam-dunk contest, along with the presentation of our teams.

It’s a free way for anyone, lottery winner or not, to see the Panthers at the Pete. I was embarrassed by the anemic turnout.

I know it wasn’t a game and there was really nothing at stake. I sure didn’t get season tickets but I saw Brandin Knight sink some impressive dunks in the glass palace.

For years, it’s been a ritual among my hoodlum friends to go to Midnight Madness. The bullhorn is an integral part of the ritual. I don’t mean a police bullhorn. I mean a horn from a bull. Fabio has traditionally lashed this thing to his forehead with nylon rope. It pains him greatly and weighs about a ton. It only appears at special occasions, maybe twice a year. If Fabio is busting out the horn, you know he’s expecting some serious insanity.

People were polite. They were quiet. They were comfortable, for God’s sake. Maybe that’s the problem.

“I say, Wilberforce, these seats cradle my bum like the petals of an orchid. I think I shan’t get up, nor whoop, nor holler. Pass the opera glasses. I think that young man is about to enslamulate the rubber sphere.”

At the old Fitzgerald Field House, known affectionately as the Zoo, we were crammed cheek to cheek on those damn yellow bleachers. The middle-school gym smell of socks and adrenaline was unavoidable. People felt like fighting.

In fact, Friday was the first Midnight Madness in years that no one wanted to fight Fabio or any of my other friends. It was a terrible letdown. The closest we came to hostility was some middle-aged man asking us to watch our mouths.

Watch our mouths?! Is this an unruly Panther display or a tea party? After Friday, I’m not too sure.

Because of the sumptuous tiered seating, Dubya wasn’t blocking anyone’s view. He had to jump up and down to get noticed, which he barely did. We didn’t make the Jumbotron.

My disruptive pals and I had been looking forward to some serious mayhem for weeks. We were beside ourselves at the thought of wreaking havoc in a gorgeous new facility. Afterward, we felt like we’d gotten all gussied up for the prom without so much as a pass from our dates.

Don’t get me wrong. The Pete is awesome. It’s beautiful and spacious and will prove an important tool to the Panthers athletics programs.

I guess all the luxury just took the “mad” out of Midnight Madness.

Melissa Meinzer apologizes to her friend Fabio for telling everyone his real name. She can be reached at [email protected].