A League of Her Own

The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle.

The movie.

Did you see it?

I did.

I had to.

Hey, if I’m gonna claim Robert De Niro as my favorite actor.

I had to see it.

In fact, I have to see any movie with De Niro in it.

No matter how many thumbs down Ebert gives it.

My love of De Niro is so bad.

I even own the DVD for the Bullwinkle movie.

Not the Blu-Ray.

Just the DVD.

You gotta draw the line somewhere.

But unconditional love is well... unconditional.

You know, that whole in sickness and in health thing.

Hey, just because Bobby D makes a stinker.

Doesn’t mean I don’t have to smell it.

That’s the way I am with De Niro.

U2.

Bruce Springsteen.

The Oakland Raiders.

And the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame.

Love is love.

And that love is blind thing may explain why I was sitting in front of the TV on Tuesday night.

Watching women’s basketball.

Yes, women’s basketball.

You see, for the second straight year, my beloved Irish women were playing in the National Championship game.

Last year they lost a heartbreaker to Texas A&M.

This year, they were facing Baylor.

Another team from the Lone Star State.

A school with the biggest star in the women’s game today.

Literally.

Six-foot-eight Brittney Griner.

But Griner is not all size.

She is substance too.

As a freshman, she recorded the first triple-double in school history.

34 points, 13 rebounds and 11 blocks.

11 BLOCKS!

As a sophomore, she led Baylor to the Final Four.

For only the second time in school history.

But this year, as a junior, Griner has taken this party to another level.

With a win Tuesday, Baylor would become the first team in college basketball history to finish the year with 40 wins.

And no losses.

The first team in history!

Men or women.

I wasn’t aware of that stat until Tuesday night.

But ESPN made sure I wouldn’t forget it.

They must’ve brought up the 40-0 thing... at least 40 times.

But hey, it’s a stat worth repeating.

Especially for someone like me who is hardly a fan of this sport.

Back in the day, watching women’s college basketball was worse than water torture.

With all due respect to the great Cheryl Miller.

If you thought Rocky and Bullwinkle was bad.

Try watching any women’s basketball game from the 70s or 80s.

ANY game.

But thankfully that has all changed.

These ladies that played on Tuesday night got some serious game.

Well, some of them.

Ok, a couple of them.

I know, it’s not the NBA.

It’s not men’s college basketball.

It’s not even good boys high school basketball.

But these women play the game right.

No smack-talking.

No neck tattoos.

No taking five steps before a layup.

Just good sound fundamental basketball.

Minus the high-flying, 360, between the legs, double-reverse, dunking stuff.

Except for Griner that is.

Just a few weeks ago she became only the second woman, ever, to dunk in an NCAA Tournament game.

In fact, she’s dunked six times in her college career.

This after 52 dunks during her senior year of high school.

This girl is borderline unstoppable.

Her game is more Shaq than Shakira.

Even if she sounds more Bernie than Brittney.

This girl can really play.

And she put on a whale of a show for the world to see on Tuesday night.

Or at least the people that had nothing else to watch.

Griner finished with 26 points, 13 rebounds and five blocks to lead the Lady Bears to the National Championship.

Before the game I asked my kids what you call a lady bear.

You know, like a female deer is a doe.

Or a female chicken is a hen.

They informed me that a lady bear is... a lady bear.

Hence the nickname.

The only person who came close to matching up to Griner on Tuesday night was Rebecca Lobo.

The ESPN sideline reporter.

Lobo is listed at 6-foot-4.

But courtesy of some heels, I'm guessing, Lobo stood nearly eye-to-eye with Griner for the post-game interview.

Notre Dame coach, little Miss Muffet McGraw, also wore heels on Tuesday night.

But when your name is Muffet, you need a little more than a pair of pumps to intimidate your opponent.

Especially when the star of that opponent wears a size 18 shoe.

A men’s size 18.

I can’t tell you the next time I will watch a women’s college basketball game again.

From start to finish.

As I did on Tuesday.

But it sure did beat Rocky and Bullwinkle.

Class Acts

Today is National Signing Day.

A day where thousands of teenage boys sign a piece of paper.

Announcing where they’ll be playing football next fall.

And sometimes attending class.

As a diehard Notre Dame fan, this is one of the most exciting days of the year.

One of the few days where we get ranked in the Top 10.

Annually, Notre Dame is on somebody’s list of best recruiting classes.

And annually these can’t miss prospects... miss.

But for a day, it’s fun to dream.

College recruiting is a game within itself.

Guys are paid big money to bring the best players to their town.

While some guys are paid even more money to come to that town.

If you’re not cheatin’, you’re not tryin’, right?

There’s no doubt that schools bend the rules as far as they can.

But some schools break those rules right in half.

I have this friend.

And this friend knows people.

And these people told him that a few years ago a school paid a basketball recruit $150,000 to come to their team.

I mean their college.

One year later that recruit was in the NBA.

Four years later that guy is making $231,000.

Per game.

Hey I get it that college sports is big business.

A multi-billion dollar business.

That’s billion, with a B.

The idea of getting the best of the best to play for your school is not only a good idea.

But it’s good business. 

After all, schools can’t live on tuition alone.

Or can they?

I was talking with a close friend of mine this morning.

And this close friend has a daughter.

Senior in high school.

For the last few years, they’ve been looking at colleges for her to attend.

And after a long search, she’s narrowed it down.

To 15.

That’s the number of schools she applied to.

And we’re talking great schools here.

Stanford to Penn.

Vanderbilt to Notre Dame.

(GO IRISH!)

This girl is one smart cookie.

And she’s got the numbers to prove it.

Numbers I didn’t even know were possible.

A 4.6 GPA and 2100 on the SAT.

With stats like that, she should be the one featured on TV today signing a letter of intent.

But instead she’s still waiting.

After all, a 4.4 in the 40 beats a 4.6 in the classroom any day.

So far she’s heard back from three of her 15 schools.

And she’s been accepted to all three.

But she’s not supposed to hear back from the others for another month.

After college football recruiting is done.

The good news is she is going to be attending a great school in the fall.

The question is what school.

And for how much.

My friend says it cost him well over $1000 just to apply to her schools.

Some applications were free.

Others were up to $120.

On top of that, he had to pay $16 per school to find out if he qualified for financial aid.

You have to pay to find out if you make too much money?

That just smells wrong.

And we haven’t even touched on tuition yet.

Just one year at one her top choices would be $65,000.

Ok, that does include a bed and some hot meals.

But still.

There’s been a long standing debate about paying college athletes.

And like John Kerry, I see both sides.

But when you really break this down to dollars and sense.

The guys that are signing today are already making quite a living.

According to a recent headline from Forbes.com:

Value of College Football Scholarship Exceeds $2 Million for College Football's Top 25

The author of this article was Dr. Patrick Rishe, a college professor who is at least 742% smarter than I will ever be.

In the article, Pat makes quite the case for teaching your kids how to bench press instead of doing math homework.

He got to the $2 Mil figure by adding up 4-year costs at the school.

Tuition, Books, Room and Board, and School Fees.

Plus the average salary of the job you get coming from that school.

Of course the variable here is actually finding a job.

But you get the point.

A scholarship from Stanford, USC and our beloved Notre Dame would cost over $210,000 over 4 years.

And that’s before you make a tackle.

Or score a touchdown.

The message here kids is perfectly simple.

Don’t go to class.

Go to the gym.

Don’t study your school books.

Memorize your playbook.

Don’t worry about homework.

Worry about home games.

Pass those three tests and you are guaranteed an A in life.

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.

Down and Around the Bend

Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

That was the thought going through my head.

Just 26 minutes and 26 seconds into the game.

USC 17, Notre Dame 0.

Not exactly how I had drawn up the conclusion to our dream weekend in South Bend.

But I was in no position to complain.

The 33 hours my 12-year-old son and I had spent at Notre Dame were among the best 33 hours of my life.

I was not going to let a loss on the football field ruin this Saturday.

As it had ruined so many of my Saturdays before.

After all, this trip wasn’t really about the football team.

It was about our team.

My son and I.

And even with the game going sour, everything before the kickoff was better than I ever could’ve hoped for.

The mission of surprising my son with his first trip to South Bend had gone off without a hitch.

I told him that we were headed to Chicago to meet a friend.

But somewhere between highways 80-90-94-284-290-294.

We got lost.

From his previous experience driving in a car with me, nothing seemed out the ordinary there.

I dropped a couple of timely expletives to keep him on edge.

Nothing new there either.

And when we got to the giant “WELCOME TO INDIANA” sign.

I lied again.

“I think we need to turn around,” I said.

By that point I was out of fingers or toes to cross.

Thankfully that’s when he pulled out his Nintendo DS.

Which kept him occupied for at least another 47 miles.

Give or take.

But when we saw the sign:

SOUTH BEND:  24 MILES

It was time for the truth to set me free.

So I asked him to read my blog.

The last blog.

Out loud.

It was the one about our secret trip to South Bend.

He made it through the first four or five sentences.

Wondering what the hell I was talking about.

Then he got to the part about us going to our beloved Notre Dame for the weekend.

He stopped reading.

Twisted his head to the left.

And looked at me.

I smirked.

He smiled.

Ear to ear.

I hadn’t seen a smile that big since Heath Ledger played The Joker.

But there was no joking here.

This was real.

Even though he couldn’t believe it.

And I couldn’t believe how well my plan had worked.

He had no idea.

None.

I’m not sure he even believed it when we got to the Notre Dame campus 20 minutes later.

But any doubt was erased with a jam packed Friday night schedule.

It started with the 6:00pm Pep Rally.

Then a trip to the basketball arena.

Followed by a stop at the women’s soccer field.

The nightcap was a win for the men’s hockey team.

My son was hooked.

And ready to transfer from 7th grade to Notre Dame.

But I explained there is actually a lot more to college than just going to a bunch of games.

I’m not sure he heard a word I was saying.

We didn’t leave campus until a little before Midnight on Friday night.

And we were back on Saturday a little before Noon.

Enough time to get a shower and a venti sugar-free vanilla americano with half water and half steamed soy.

Even that was perfect.

The football game didn’t start until 7:30 at night.

The first night game in South Bend in 21 years.

That gave us plenty of time to do.... everything.

Tailgate parties.

Souvenir shopping.

The Golden Dome.

More souvenir shopping.

More tailgate parties.

The Grotto.

We did it all.

I didn’t look at my watch once.

Time had literally stopped.

And neither one of us was complaining.

Finally around 6:30, we entered the stadium.

That gave my son almost an hour before kickoff to take pictures.

More pictures.

And take he did.

In the 1,980 minutes we spent in South Bend, he took 273 shots.

We counted.

We also counted our blessings.

He must’ve thanked me 106 times for bringing him to the game.

But the pleasure was all mine.

I’m guessing college football fans in Florida or Texas or Michigan or Wisconsin or wherever, all claim to be the best.

But for us, there was nothing like seeing a game in South Bend. 

In section 35, where were sitting.... standing, there was no shortage of football experts.

I told the guy next to me that this was my third trip to South Bend.

The last time was 2001 when we beat USC.

“October 20th, 2001” he responded.

“Ha ha ha,” is what I said.

“How creepy” is what I thought.

I told him my first trip was in 1990 when the Rocket (Raghib Ismail) returned the kick against Miami.

Also October 20th.

Now that’s creepy.

But don’t let the OCD fool you, these people love their Irish.

Even when we started losing on Saturday night.

Sure they got frustrated.

Even mad.

And there was so much second guessing, I thought I was at a session of Congress.

But they never stopped caring.

At one point Notre Dame used a quarterback rotation.

Moving one guy in and one guy out on consecutive plays.

When it didn’t work, it wasn’t very popular.

Especially with a guy right behind us.

“What is he doing?,” speaking of coach Brian Kelly.  

“Doesn’t he know that no one has ever won a national championship rotating quarterbacks!”

Ok, now you’ve gone too far.

About 2.4 seconds later, my son and and I turned around.

At the same time.

And said.

“Florida -- Chris Leak and Tim Tebow.”

At the same time.

That may be my proudest moment as a dad.

And there are a lot to choose from.

After falling behind Notre Dame battled back.

In fact, the Irish were one yard away from tying the game in the third quarter when they fumbled the ball.

The Trojans picked up the loose pig and took it all the way back. 

It turned out to be the final score of the night.

USC 31, Notre Dame 17.

A disappointing loss, to say the least.

But for the first time.

Ever.

We lost the game.

And I really didn't care.