School Ties

If you haven’t figured out by now, my recent trip to Notre Dame was great.

Everything about it.

Well everything except for the game.

But even that had its moments.

Like when the referee said, “Time Out, UCLA.”

Even though Notre Dame was playing USC.

The South Bend fans didn’t let that one go unnoticed.

In fact, they didn’t let anything go unnoticed.

Everything you could read in the newspaper on Sunday morning.

We heard in Section 35 on Saturday night.

Something else we heard on Saturday Night was the song "Crazy Train".

By Ozzy Osbourne.

Every time and I mean EVERY time the Notre Dame defense needed a stop, they played the beginning of Crazy Train on the PA system.


ALL ABOARD... HA HA HA HA.

Now I love that song.

Love it so much that its the ringer on my cell phone.

But it took me at least 15 times to stop reaching for my phone whenever they played that song.

Clearly, I'm not very bright.

When we bought the tickets, we were told they were in the student section.

Which meant, don’t plan on sitting down.

If you want to watch the game, bring comfortable shoes.

Because you’ll be standing.

Apparently the lady next to me wasn’t given that memo.

Or her husband didn’t share that information with her.

They showed up just before the kickoff.

And sat in their seat.

Never got up.

For the entire first half, she stared at the back of the man standing in front of her.

There was no college try for her.

And when the first half ended.

So did their night.

Never saw them again.

We also left at halftime.

In search of “Irish Nachos”.

We were told we MUST try them.

So must we did.

But it wasn’t easy finding them.

Just one stand in the entire stadium sold these World Famous Irish Nachos.

But when we got to the stand, there was no line.

That should’ve been our first clue.

But we still bought in.

$8.50 worth.

And for that $8.50 we got a ginormous bowl of something.

Something that resembled nachos.

But instead of tortilla chips, we got potato chips.

Instead of ground beef, we got corned beef.

Instead of melted orange cheese, we got cut up swiss cheese.

Instead of beans, we got sauerkraut.

And instead of salsa, we got thousand island dressing.

It was more Reuben than Nachos.

Tasty?

At times.

“Must get”?

Not so much.

But at least it gave us something to do during halftime.

Actually finding stuff to do in South Bend was never a problem.

Book signings to band performances.

Pep Rally to Volleyball games.

Before the game my son and I took a tour of the campus.

Including a visit to The Grotto.

Forget the Irish Nachos, the Grotto is a MUST see at Notre Dame.

The Grotto is a quiet place of worship hidden inside this beautiful Catholic campus.

Actually outside.

It’s a place that invites one and invites all to kneel in prayer.

Or light a candle.

And connect with whatever faith that fits them.

So I lit a candle.

Connected with my emotions.

And prayed for a Notre Dame win.

Well that didn’t work.

Maybe the Grotto knew I was Jewish.

From there we headed to the Golden Dome.

Well it’s called the Main Building.

But we all know it as the Golden Dome.

While we were there, the Bagpipe Band was performing its pre-game concert.

Normally a 12-year-old boy might get freaked out by a bunch of guys wearing skirts.

Not my son.

Remember, he used to live in California.

As we were leaving the Golden Dome, I saw a familiar face.

A face I hadn’t seen in 10 years.

Exactly.

That was the last time I was at Notre Dame.

In fact, the man I saw was the man who brought my dad and I to South Bend in 2001.

He has to be in his mid-80s by now.

Maybe more.

But he looks great.

And so does his wife, of 60+ years.

As soon as I saw them, I hustled over.

To say hello.

And to introduce them to my son.

I always knew this man was a big supporter of my favorite school.

But I didn’t know just how big.

I didn’t know that he was a star baseball player at Notre Dame in the late 40s.

I didn’t know that he wrote a book about his life. 

I didn’t know he played amateur baseball against Jackie Robinson.

And I didn’t know that he played professional baseball.

When he found out that baseball was my son’s true love, he was very excited.

So excited he gave him some tips.

Fingertips.

“Fingertip push ups,” he said.  “That’s the key.”

He told my boy that strong hands and strong forearms are the secret to being a great baseball player.

And he would know.

We probably spoke for 15 minutes.

And then we went our separate ways.

Hopefully we'll meet again in South Bend.

In less than ten years.

Thanks for going on this trip with me.

Now back to reality.