We have all faced our fair share of disappointment in our lives. When we were young, it came from missing out on the last cookie in the cookie jar or the last slice of pizza. It was even worse when your mother would not take you to McDonalds, even though the toy they had in the Happy Meal was exactly what you wanted. When we are older, our disappointment comes from missing out on the last beer in the case, the last slice of pizza (still) or the poor grade you got on your midterm after partying the night before.

But there is one disappointment that trumps the rest. It is a saddening event that thousands of Oswego State students will be able to sympathize with. For this week, the rejected will be able to bond over their misfortune.

I am speaking of course, of the tragic experience that haunts our present thoughts: the scarcity of tickets for the Plattsburgh hockey game.

Anticipating a long wait, I approached the box office last Monday afternoon. Strangely, there was no line and although I did not go at a peak time, this struck me as unusual. It proved to be a sad sign of what I would find out next. The guy in front of me walks up to the teller in the window.

"Can I get a ticket for both games this weekend?"

"There are no more Plattsburgh tickets, but there are some for Potsdam," the teller said.

He finished the sentence, but I did not hear it. I was in shock. My spot among the sea of white was gone. As soon as those words were uttered, I turned around to see the shock on my fellow students’ faces, many quickly leaving the depressing line.

"All right, I guess I’ll take one for Potsdam," he said, his face sad with dejection. He walks away holding his lone ticket.

I walk up to the booth. "Yeah, one for Potsdam."

I had never been more disappointed to not have a ticket to a hockey game. While last Friday’s game against Potsdam may have been perfectly fine, it was the showdown versus our fiercest rival Plattsburgh that everybody wanted. It is the two-pack of tickets that I, and so many more, missed out on.

There will be people who argue that the Plattsburgh game is no different, that it’s just another hockey game. Those people are wrong.

If only they could’ve stood surrounded by the blizzard of white, chants filling up the arena louder than they ever heard before. Your throat hurts from yelling and your legs hurt from standing up too much to celebrate or from heckling the opponent after every move they make.

Of course, such desperation for a ticket is a prime business opportunity for the students that were lucky enough, or willing enough to wake up at 6 a.m. to get in line for the 10 a.m. box office opening. Whether it is $20, $30, their car, a second mortgage on their house, somebody paid the price needed to experience the game. People who had a ticket, but whose friends were unable to get one in time were stuck in a position. Did they go to the game and enjoy the enthusiasm cheering along with our Lakers, or did they sell the ticket? They could have bought a thirty rack of beer with the money and sit at home to watch the game with your ticketless friends.

While both options may seem appealing, there is nothing quite like being at the Whiteout game in person. For the 3,000 lucky ticketholders: congratulations, you won the golden ticket to the chocolate factory. I hope you enjoyed the game (I also hope you lost your voices yelling and chanting and cheer on our team). The hours you spent in line waiting were worth it, but don’t forget the thousands of students who could not get a ticket, we wanted to be there too.