Growing up as a Notre Dame Fan: A Long Form Memoir

Matthew Rice/Wikimedia Commons

It was the fall of 2009 and the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football team was recovering from a five-point, 27-22, loss to the No.8 Pittsburgh Panthers. It had been a rough season for the Irish, having come into week 11 with a 6-5 record. Close losses were a sort of theme for 2009. In the games the team lost, it did so on an average of 4.6 points, and up to week 11, these losses included a 38-34 loss at Michigan, 34-27 to USC, 23-21 to Navy, and the aforementioned loss to Pitt. It was heartbreak central for a young, 10-year-old kid who was highly devoted to everything Notre Dame. However, there seemed to be a happier time ahead. The Irish were set to play UConn, a program that had only been among the FBS ranks for seven years. The Huskies, who at the time were 4-5, on a 3-game skid, and virtually derailing, seemed to be a cakewalk for the Irish.

I remember the leaves a fallin' as I arrived at my parents meeting spot and loaded up into my Dad’s PT Cruiser, I assumed it would be another average weekend with my Dad. We would take our frequent Friday trip to a local South Bend restaurant called Wing Nut, I would challenge some kid to air hockey, play the Fast and Furious arcade game, devour my wings and fries which I would promptly get all over myself, play some Rock band with the family, go to sleep, wake up, watch ESPN Game Day, and get amped to watch Notre Dame football. However, this time it was all different. As we voyaged our way towards South Bend via U.S. 20, my Dad turned around with a huge grin on his face and handed me an envelope. To me, this seemed abnormal as there wasn’t any special occasion for me to receive a card. I opened it up and my eyes dilated in awe.

It was a ticket to my first Notre Dame game.

My love for the Fighting Irish developed at a young age. My parents separated when I was young. Therefore, during the school year I got to be with my Dad every other weekend. He met my stepmother when I was around the age of five or six and it was because of them meeting that my fandom for Notre Dame, and college football, started. My stepmother’s family is ingrained to the University of Notre Dame. In fact, her Aunt owned Joe’s Tavern, a bar near downtown South Bend where TriStar Pictures filmed the scuffle between Rudy Ruettiger and his brother in the movie “Rudy.” A relative of hers, who we visited every Easter, lived right off East Angela Boulevard, just a minute or two from Notre Dame Avenue. My Dad’s house was only a 10-minute drive from campus. My earliest Notre Dame memory was with them and it is, perhaps, one of the most infamous.

The first game I ever watched was the 2005 “Bush Push” game.

There are only two things I remember from that night. One, I had not really discovered football yet, but after every touchdown I mimicked my dad celebrating, which ended in me doing some sort of running Irish jig with a mini football in my arms. Two, the crushing agony in which I visually and audibly witnessed from my Dad and Stepmom. It was from there on that my love for the Irish grew. Something that started with me wanting to enjoy the moment because my parents were had developed into a lifelong fandom. Crazy how those things work.

Due to my love for the game, I convinced my parents to let me join our local youth football league. My dream as a kid was always to become wide receiver. Uncoincidentally, all of my favorite players as a young fan were wide receivers. It all started with Jeff Samardzija, the guy who lit the fire of my personal passion for the position. In my first season of youth football, I could choose my number. I selected none other than 83, Samardzija’s number. After he had moved on from the university and into the MLB, my next favorite was Golden Tate. After him, Michael Floyd, and then TJ Jones and Davaris Daniels. Most recently, Will Fuller. You get the point. Unfortunately, the dream died soon after as I transitioned into high school because my school ran the triple option. But from that dream a new one developed. Journalism.

I was obsessed with Notre Dame football. Every weekend at my dad’s I was on the PlayStation 2 playing EA’s NCAA Football video game. I put countless hours in to recreate the entire roster whether they were a third string center or the starting quarterback. Each Saturday the Irish played I would make sure to play against, and beat, that team in NCAA as some sort of good omen for the day. In my younger days when I was still new to the game, I would repeatedly call the same play: PA Power O. Why? It was the only play that I knew where Jeff Samardzija would run a streak route alone. I did not care if there was double coverage, I would toss that thing with Brady Quinn and pray. I cannot quite remember how many times it worked, but I do know it worked often enough for me to win some games.

The day had finally come. It was Saturday, November 21st of 2009. I remember the golden morning; it was nearly perfect as there was not a cloud in sight and the temperature topped out at 54 degrees with the low set at 48. Kickoff was slated for 2:30 Eastern. As I got ready for the game, I was elated to adorn the #23 jersey, the jersey of my favorite player at the time, Golden Tate, at a live event. We arrived on campus early to stroll around the University. Despite it being my first game, it wasn’t my first time visiting.

My Dad and I would usually attend the annual Notre Dame spring game and travel the grounds beforehand to check out the Golden Dome, Basilica of the Sacred Heart, Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, and Hammes Notre Dame Bookstore. However, what was a first was gathering in a line to watch the players make their way from the team bus to the locker room. Fortunately for me, a man standing in front us had overheard that it was my first time doing so and allowed me to get in the very front. This was thrilling for me as I was able to watch all my “heroes” trounce in front of me. I waved, they waved back.

I was in awe as we pushed through the flood of people and into the corridors. In the distance I could hear the far-off music like pipes calling. Up to this point, I had no idea where we were sitting. However, as we moved our way up the ramps and made it to our seats, I couldn’t believe it. My dad had gotten us corner tickets only 18 rows (or so) up from the field. It was incredible. Years and years of begging my Dad to get us tickets to a game had finally paid off. My dream had come true. I was actually at my first Notre Dame game. My level of excitement continued to build as I watched the game timer click all the way down to zero.

It was game time.

The crowd had settled after the roar of the players making their way out of the tunnel. UConn elected to receive and were quickly forced off the field by the Notre Dame defense. Thereafter, the Irish put together a nine-play, 69-yard drive which ended in a touchdown. What made this moment incredibly special was that it happened on our end of the field. On 3rd and five on UConn’s eight-yard line, Jimmy Clausen delivered a dime to Golden Tate who was wide open off a post route. Now, seeing my favorite player catch a touchdown on my end of the field on the first drive, I’m not sure that moment could have been any better.

After getting out to an early 14-0 lead, the Huskies managed to inch their way back in, making the score 14-10 by halftime. UConn was playing inspired and for a good cause. On October 18, 2009, Huskies cornerback Jasper Howard was fatally stabbed hours after a victory over Louisville. Understandably, this sent the team on a tailspin, losing their next three games until they arrived in South Bend, Indiana. Looking back, I had no idea any of this happened.

From there on out, the game was back and forth and with a minute and 10 seconds to go, UConn kicker Dave Teggart nailed a 29-yard field goal to knot things up at 20. Again, my first game, and the Irish have a minute and 10 seconds to deliver a game winning score, what could be better than this?

My heart was racing…until it fell into my stomach. Irish running back Armando Allen fumbled the ball three plays into the drive. UConn recovered the ball on the Notre Dame 41, gifting them the opportunity to win on a walk off score. Pain and agony filled my body as I watched Andre Dixon rush 18 yards on the first play of the Huskies’ drive to the Notre Dame 23. Following a three-yard run to provide the kicker with a favorable position, they allowed the clock to wind down to three seconds, calling a timeout. Out trotted Teggart, who was perfect on the day. To make the moment more surreal, this was all happening on my side of the field, and I was nearly behind the goal post. The ball snapped, heart racing, I took a breath, closed my eyes, and vowed to not watch the easy 37-yard kick go in.

It missed. Hardly left.

The crowd roared. The friend who tagged along screamed to me that it didn’t go in. I refused to believe it. My refuse was reversed when I saw the officials wave it off as no-good.

Overtime.

Up until this point, the game provided me with a roller coaster of emotions. However, nothing could have prepared me for the next ride called overtime. Both teams traded blows, tying the game once more at 27, creating a second overtime. Unfortunately for me, Notre Dame had the ball first and put up a field goal while UConn finished it off with a game winning touchdown by Andre Dixon. Unfortunately for my Dad, he had to deal with a sore loser of a son who was throwing a fit because his favorite team lost in double overtime to UConn at his first game. As we walked down the ramps within the stadium corridors, I took off my jersey and threw it on the ground in a sobbing mess. It was a rough time. Thankfully, my Dad handled it well. I picked up the jersey and silently made my way back to the car.

I could go on about all the memories I have had growing up near South Bend as a Notre Dame fan, but to be frank, there is too many to recollect. For instance, I was in attendance on a wet and freezing afternoon when Irish tight end Ben Koyack hauled in a game winning touchdown over Stanford, or how I finally was able to live my dream of going to a Notre Dame-USC game, or how I was on the brink of tears watching Pittsburgh nearly defeat a perfect Irish squad that eventually would make it to the National Championship, or how dismantled I felt after Everett Golson tossed a game winning touchdown to Corey Robinson against top ranked Florida State only for it to be called back for an illegal screen.

There are so many memories that university has given me, and I understand that much of this chapter is ending, neutrality and transparency are coming. And hey, who is to say I won’t be covering them some day? Despite all of that, the blue and gold will always be a part of me. The tradition, the culture, the intrigue...it will all continue to be there. I will always be able to think back to those young days. Those days where my eyes beamed at the very sight of the Golden Dome. Those days when I would get the chills at the very words:

“And there’s a magic in the sound of their name. Here come the Irish, of Notre Dame.”