Sold. I buy it. All the hype; all the rah rah; all the tradition. There is no place like it on a Saturday in September. I've been out for a number of games before (SIDENOTE: Teddy P's face as we stand at the gate in Philly International Airport at 6:00AM on a Friday morning having just realized I booked two flights for Chicago departing at 6:00PM...my bad dude) but I've never participated as an active member of the community and seen firsthand how it all builds up and eventually comes together at 3:30 Saturday afternoon...
The first real signs of the approaching holiday appear Wednesday afternoon. Huge tents start popping up all around campus, Port-Au-Johns roll in by the dozens, and the student newspaper (produced every day...isn't that crazy?) starts running a tale of the tape on the weekend's matchup. Thursday, the anticipation builds. Big Signs are going up and middle aged men start walking around the quad with faded ND hats and cameras hanging from their belts. On the walk to my car after a full day of classes and group meetings (MBA school loves case studies), I'm entertained first by Coach Kelly's pregame radio show emanating from the outdoor speakers at Legends (the on campus bar) and second, by the marching band practicing their halftime routine in the far corner of the parking lot...there is nothing like hearing the beats of Taio Cruz from hundreds of trumpets, tubas, drums, etc. Friday morning, you're excited but not really sure why (surely it's not the 90 minute lecture detailing all legal ramifications of excessive personal spending by a public company's CEO)...by Noon, the throngs of pilgrims are clogging up the parking lots and walkways...it might as well be gameday...footballs flying everywhere. The tents now selling anything you could ever want with an ND logo on it. Friday night: Pep Rally in the S. Quad, a Notre Dame tradition. New Head Coach Kelly takes the mic and rallies the troops (all 15k of them). The alarm goes off early on Saturday morning. The tailgating starts right away (MBA's apparently have a rep for this kind of a thing). At 2pm, the band begins their march from the dome to the stadium...very cool (but also very crowded)...it all culminates with a 3:30 kickoff as the entire student body collectively breathes a sigh of relief after the first ND touchdown...maybe this is a different year...the optimism is cute. The effects of the weekend continue into Sunday as I naively walk into 10am mass at the time it starts (stupid me), only to see about all 82k fans from the game yesterday and am forced to stand in the foyer with the other 'late comers'. And, finally, the aftermath of the weekend wears off Monday with a 5 minute diagnosis of strengths, weaknesses and a scouting report of next week's opponent from each professor at the start of their class...great stuff...
It's a weekly routine steeped in so much tradition and so unique, that it draws alums, locals, and otherwise unaffiliated football fans from all over the country...some more high profile than others...which leads me to a quick story: On Friday afternoon (after that riveting lecture), I head over to the athletic center to try and catch the tail end of the pickup scene...I’m there just in time to get in the last (and pretty awful) game of the afternoon. After the rest of the gang hits the showers, I stick around to get some shots up for a bit. A bunch of little kids (maybe 7 years old) come running out wearing ND jerseys and start shooting on the court right next to me. After about 15 minutes, I look up and notice a very familiar face watching the action from the second floor - it's the kids' grandfather, DICKIE V!!! How cool is that...I'm shooting around while Dickie V watches from above...come on, what Big Ten school as THAT to offer a washed up DIII hoops MBA candidate? I told you, a unique place. It's pretty well known that he's a big-time fan (I think his daughter's an alumn)...after playing it cool and continuing to shoot for 5 minutes, I just couldn't help myself - I had to go introduce myself...up the steps, around the corner and there he is. I walk up, shake his hand and say, "Dickie V, I had to say hello, I'm a big fan" (what a star-struck geek)...He says, "Hey how ya doin man"...it's fairly clear that he's not interested in the attention but he's polite enough to recognize a fan...I'm ready to let him off the hook and back to family time when he casually says with a flick of his hat to my chest, "Hey kid, you can really shoot the ball can't ya?"...!!!...holy crap...as my boy Shirley said when I relayed (OK, bragged about) the story, "You sonuvabitch, that's like George Clooney telling you you're good-looking"...I immediately go weak in the knees and stammer through a clumsy response full of stuttering (what a star-struck geek)...it all lasted about 2 minutes (yea, yea...that's what she said)...As I walked away from the gym blasting out a text to family and friends bragging that Dickie V likes my J, I knew it'd be a great one for the blog.
Who knows if this whole MBA thing will lead to a better job and one worth the investment...and who cares really? I just got my money's worth in about 120 seconds. Go Irish...BABY!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-uTLIwPlu1k (He knows talent when he sees it on this campus)
