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.

Ray of Hope

A few years ago I saw a story that a large number of black baseball players didn’t know who Jackie Robinson was.

Large number?

There shouldn’t be any number.

Unbelievable to me.

But apparently true.

History has always been a favorite subject of mine.

But I am far from an expert.

On anything.

But I do know what I should know.

And I do respect what should be respected.

I’m thrilled to report the same can be said for the students on our school trip to Washington.

As we left the Lincoln Memorial we were greeted at the bottom of the steps by Ray.

Ray is a veteran.

A veteran of World War II.

There were a number of vets roaming around the grounds.

I’m not sure why.

But in our case he provided us with one of the highlights of the day.

It became story time pretty quickly.

And within seconds Ray had these kids in the palm of his hand.

Kids that could’ve been his great great grandkids.

And for 15 minutes his kids listened.

And asked questions.

And paid respect to a man that deserved respect.

Nobody left.

Nobody yawned.

Everyone listened.

Listened to Ray talk about how he spent his 19th birthday.

How he spent his 19th birthday in battle.

A 90-day battle where all but five of those days were fighting for his life.

“We didn’t shave or shower or change our clothes the entire time,” Ray said.

And then Ray showed us his Bronze Star Medal.

Awarded for bravery.

The fourth highest combat award of the U.S. Armed Forces.

And when those 15 minutes ended.

We had all won.

Star Trek

If you could have dinner with any three people, who would they be?

I’ve always loved that question.

Honestly, I’ve never put my list together, but I love the possibilities.

Some more obvious than others.

Abraham Lincoln, John Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr.

Obvious.

Buddy Holly, Jackie Robinson, John Steinbeck.

Not so much.

Robert DeNiro, Mel Brooks, Lucille Ball.

Order an extra dessert. 

I’m not sure which three it would be.

But I’m pretty sure it would include someone from sports, someone from politics and definitely someone from music.

Or maybe all three would be from the music world, as long as they brought their guitars.

But as much fun as it might be to meet one of my heroes, it is also something that I’m totally ok if it never happens.

Just imagine if you met your idol and he or she was a jerk.

I’ve never met Bono or Dylan or Madonna.

And it’s probably better that way.

It’s definitely better for them.

My friend David met Bruce Springsteen at a bar in LA.

And Bruce was.... great.

David has a picture of the two of them in his living room.

My other friend David delivered pizza to Wayne Gretzky’s house.

And he got a signed pizza box.

And a nice tip.

Sunday I got a chance to meet one of my musical heroes.

Up close and personal.

For at least five seconds.

More on that in a moment.

With my family in town this weekend, we did quite a bit of traveling around Manhattan.

They wanted to see Times Square and the Empire State Building and of course, FAO Schwarz.

Check, check and check.

Sunday, our big stop was a meal in Little Italy.

So we took the E train to Spring Street.

It was about a ten-minute walk through SoHo to get to the world famous Mulberry Street.

Along the way, we did some window shopping and food cart smelling.

As we approached a main intersection, we noticed a group of five singers and a stand-up bass player making some incredible noise.

From the caddy corner, we could hear them singing, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” loud and VERY clear.

A song, my seven-year old was hoping to hear on Broadway at the stage version of The Lion King.

“Um, sweetie, how about if we hear five strangers singing the same song on a street corner instead?”

For free.

So we followed our ears and headed that way.

We heard them sing that song and about five others, dropping some appreciation in the tip jar along the way.

Midway through the set, a lady walked right up next to us.

Within a beat or two, she started singing to the music.

Well, actually whispering to the music.

As if she didn’t want to be heard.

And based on the baseball cap pulled down over her eyes.

And the sunglasses covering them.

She didn’t want to be seen either.

Sorry ma’am, if you’re trying to fly under the radar, you’ve just landed on the wrong runway.

I looked over, about five times, then whispered to my wife...

“That’s Melissa Etheridge.”

Now that may not be a big deal to you.

And if it is not, you’ve never heard her music.

“Yes I Am” is one of the greatest CDs of the 90’s.

“Like The Way I Do,” is one of the most powerful songs in the last 25 years.

I own all of her records.  

I’ve seen her in concert several times.  

I have been inspired by her more than several times.

But I wasn’t about to be that guy.

She clearly didn’t want to be recognized.

So I didn’t recognize her.

Until she started walking down the street, away from the crowd.

That’s when I walked up right behind her and mumbled, “Melissa?”

She turned and said, “Yes.”

“Melissa, I just want to thank you for your music.   You have truly inspired me,” I said.

“Thank you.  What is your name?”

OMG.

Melissa Etheridge just asked me my name.

What the hell do I say?

After what felt like a long pause to me, I told her my name.

She then shook my hand and informed me that it was nice for her to meet me.

It was nice for HER to meet ME?

Honestly, I could care less if that exact line came from page 93 of the “How Celebrities Should Deal with Stalkers” handbook.

Melissa Etheridge just shook MY hand and said it was nice to meet me.

How cool.

Sitting here now, several hours later, I have about four million things I could have said. 

But about one milli-second after she let go of my hand, she went her way and I went mine.

That was it.

My family came up to me seconds later and asked how it went.

“Great,” I said.  “I now have a blog for today...”

...And a moment I will never forget.