“Mattie! I saw you on TV!” senior Beebe Rose exclaimed after third period AP Calculus. Rose was one of about 15 students and teachers to stop me and let me know of my post-Super Bowl appearance on CBS.

   Thousands of fans flooded the streets outside of the Superdome after the Ravens were deemed world champions. I just happened to stumble upon what looked to be a CBS news interview with Baltimore mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake. What did I do?  Like any sane person would do, especially after their team just won the Super Bowl, I leaped into the air and screamed. Or tried to. The leap I got, but my voice was shot so not much sound came out. I’d love to describe the sound for you, but the noise level was so loud that I could not hear my own voice. And as glamorous as that all sounds, these few seconds of fame are the least of my many memorable moments.

      The Seven Nation Army chant echoed through the outskirts of the Superdome while Ravens fans clearly outnumbered 49ers fans waiting in line. While chanting along I felt a push behind me and turned around to see Terrell Suggs’ wife making her way through the crowd.

   After an hour of pushing and screaming and avoiding being squished into the herding fences, we finally made it to our seats. Two red jerseys stood out life a sore thumb in our section, engulfed by everything purple and black. The Ravens cheers vastly outnumbered any other sound, and other than a temporary de-motivation caused by a power outage, the energy was not only through the roof but easily felt across the Mississippi River.

   When the buzzer sounded and confetti filled the super dome, my dad and I sprinted down from our upper deck seats to the plaza level to get a front row view of the action. Players held their babies and celebrated with wives, but the excitement was felt more by the fans then the field.

   Shy was not in anyone’s vocabulary after that game. Complete strangers hugged me when I walked by and high fives were thrown all across the city. Fans hung out of taxis and screamed when they saw our jerseys. Bourbon Street was a stampede of purple and black and beads and our chant echoed on for hours.