I’m not going to pretend that this article finds you lacking for information and insight from the 31-0 Notre Dame victory over Michigan on Saturday. It’s early Wednesday evening , and most of you have already had your fill. Still, I feel compelled to share some thoughts with all of you before we move on to other things. This won’t be like any other “Hangover” post that I have written here on Subway Domer.
Not too long after the game on Saturday night, I was hanging out in the FIDM office recording a podcast with a large handful of people. One of those present, was Alan Wasielewski. Alan talked about what this game meant, but more importantly for me, how we should react to this game. We were to embrace this game and all it meant and not give any thought to the rest of the season.
I took hold of that thought and ran with it. I ran really fast, as my lack of a “Victory” post or “Bagpipe Monday” post or any real time spent on Twitter can attest to. But that was the end of the story, and like any good story, I should start at the beginning.
According to my schedule, my wife and I were late in leaving the house on Saturday. According to hers, we left way too damn early. I was ready. I was ready to finally get back to Notre Dame after being away for almost 2 years. I had grand plans that day. So many people to see and meet. So much food and booze to consume.
The walk to campus from White Field was almost intolerable. I had this weird feeling that came from some weird and distant place that I was missing out on something. I tried to drown those feelings with a 40 of Mickey’s and as we came up from the lake, that 40 and the feeling were now both gone. There was still this void that I couldn’t shake.
We arrived at the FIDM office and said hello to everyone and chatted nervously for a few minutes. The tension of gameday with Michigan at the gates had took its grip on a few people. It still hadn’t took its grip on me, and this bothered me greatly. We tried finding a few people I had planned on meeting, but this proved as unsuccessful as the Michigan offense was that night. Frustrated, tired, hungry, and thirsting for more booze, we took refuge in a shaded area outside of the stadium.
This all felt horribly wrong. My mind and soul was nowhere it normally is on gameday and the wife and I were bickering over what to do next. The day was starting to feel like a failure and it was only 3:30. We sat for what seemed like an eternity, and we did nothing. This was all my fault.
Throughout the week and even the weeks leading up to this game, an endless number of people have asked me what I thought about the Michigan series ending and all that jazz. Almost every answer given was the same thing about how I really didn’t care. I did not care that Michigan would no longer be on the schedule- fuck Michigan. But an unforeseen byproduct of all of this was a kind of numbness about the game all together. How hyped could I really be without betraying my indifference to the “future” of the series?
I drank a few more beers.
We continued to sit in the shade and let the day go by without watching the band march, the team walk, or anything really. Whatever tension that resided between my wife and I was actually melting away but I just couldn’t get myself hyped up for the game at hand. WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO ME? Have I really jumped the shark and took some weird new point of view about Notre Dame football? This was bothering me almost as much as being out of beer and having more hunger pains despite a delicious Nelson’s Chicken Sandwich.
We walk to Gate A and stand in line until the gates opened. I’ve never done this before. I felt old and out of touch with the young man I once was that treated each game like a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I had wondered if my feelings about “losing my religion” that had prematurely caused a blogging retirement last fall, had been real after all and now I’m just going through the motions. My wife looked up at me and with a truly genuine tone, asked me if I was getting excited. I don’t even remember how I answered.
We walk in and immediately head to a concession stand to grab a dog, a brat, nachos, and two large drinks. Amazingly, it only came to $9.50. Someone had screwed up, and for the first time all day, I felt good. I felt calm and ready. As we entered the bowl of the stadium in Section 1, I was amazed at how aware I was that this was not the same. There is a feeling that I would always get when I would enter the stadium, like I was exiting the the real world and entering something from the past. That was no longer the case as I studied the newly installed fieldturf. As much as I have been a strong supported of fieldturf in the past, I had always secretly wondered if I would resent it once I stood in its presence.
That wasn’t the case.
It was BEAUTIFUL. Yes, it felt odd and it was something unfamiliar, but it didn’t feel out of place. As the minutes rolled away, I started to find myself turning a corner emotionally. As the paratroopers dropped in and the chants of USA USA USA USA started to rise from the crowd, so too did I. I was where I was supposed to be both physically and mentally. My wife was getting excited and once the team came running out on to the field through a cloud of smoke, I felt that change that only someone like David Banner must feel like when “the other guy” shows up.
At the drop of a hat, I was ready to run down on to the field, that beautifully carpeted battlefield, and just start fist fighting these STUPID ASS SKUNKBEAR BITCHES FROM UP NORTH. My commitment was strong. Our section was great, and there was even a very Twilight-looking Michigan troll that added to the fun.
The game rolled on. The Fighting Irish rolled on. This was the ass whooping that we have needed to give for quite a few years, and it was happening right in front of me. The team played with fire, and came ready to destroy and devour Michigan, puke them up and destroy and devour them over and over again. It was gorgeous. By the time I heard Lil Jon’s voice boom over the speakers, I was reborn hard. The only thing that mattered now was the shutout.
As the clock ticked away, the wife and I were cheering harder and harder for that complete and utter destruction of Michigan football in the form of that elusive shutout. When Shumate intercepted Gardner and ran it back for a touchdown as the clock hit 00:00, it was as if a bomb exploded inside the stadium. We went fucking nuts. It was as big of a “fuck you” as you can see in a football game. Even with the b16 refs taking away the touchdown over a legal hit, my eyes will never unsee what happened nor will my body ever unfeel what had just happened.
Life was perfect.
As we exited the stadium gushing with emotion and giddiness, we laughed and stared and pointed at the Michigan truck and its “winningest team” paint job. We walked over to the FIDM office to record a post game podcast and we were greeted with a big sweaty hug from Oak as we entered. This was just so good. The podcast was full of laughs and relief and excitement and as the clock creeped past 1 am, it was time to put a cap on the night.
The golf cart ride back to our car was cold and bumpy, but there was such an immense feeling of satisfaction that nothing else mattered other than 31 to nothing- EXCUSE ME… 37 TO NOTHING. We grabbed some Burger King because the line at Taco Bell was too long and headed back to the townhouse we were staying at to stuff our bellies and pass out.
The day that had once been so odd and uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons, and ended so amazing and so perfect for all the right reasons. I took a few days off to enjoy this moment and not make the same mistakes I made leading up to the game. Notre Dame was victorious. Michigan was slain. Fuck Michigan now and forever.
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