Crowds, Canadians, & Contemplations

Here is a short narrative for you.

I was shaking again. "Relax," they all told me, again. They were my teammates, ya know, the people who push you when you don't want to be pushed. I could barely see into the temporary indoor arena, but I could hear the crowd. I could hear the delighted screams; I could feel the thundering claps moving the seats and the floor.

How many of those thousands of people really knew who was riding that night? Wikipedia can only tell you so much. It tells you about achievements with some childhood facts thrown in, but it doesn't tell you who the person is. No Wikipedia page could tell you that I like to poke my horse's nose until she gets so annoyed with me that she is forced to play along. Granted, I don't have a Wikipedia page, but if I did have one, that wouldn't be on there.

I couldn't really comprehend why the crowd seemed to love every rider so much. The only people who received boos were, well, no one. You could almost say that the crowd was unbiased and loved like a Canadian, but that wouldn't be true because only the majority cheered rather than the whole and not all Canadians are kind.