Week Two, Part 3 - Law School: A Cut Above

Getting student tickets for University of Notre Dame home football games isn’t as easy as I had hoped. For some reason, perhaps my wait-listed status, I am not issued a ticket application . To get one, I spend an hour on Monday afternoon in line at the Joyce Center box office.

There are other fans in worse predicaments. A girl with blond hair halfway down her back tells the ticket clerk, “My ex-roommate is a graduate student doing field research in northern Minnesota. She wants to know if I can get the tickets for her.” The clerk shakes her head “no.”

Next up is a man in his 40's who identifies himself as a faculty member. "I signed up for my tickets in the spring, but moved over the summer. Apparently the tickets were sent to my old address.” He too gets no relief.

My tale of woe results in a helpful smile. The clerk flips through the plastic box in front of her and pulls out a blue card with my name. She tells me to come back tomorrow afternoon when student tickets go on sale.

Tuesday I return. This time I have to stand outside in a line that stretches at least a hundred yards. I study a bit, but it’s hard in the hot sun.

The guys in front of me are discussing theology. "I don’t think you can prove the existence of God,” says one. He’s shirtless and has “Irene” tattooed under his left nipple. “You can only prove that God does not 'not exist.' Then faith takes you the next step." He takes a last swig out of his McDonalds cup and flips it into the shrubbery.”

Standing behind me is a fellow 1L, Kevin Patrick. We discover we’re in the same section for each of our substantive classes. The odds of that are low. There are two sections of CivPro, two of Crim, two of Torts, and three of Contracts.

I tell Kevin my little theory that if Professor Bauer only grills one student per class, starting with the most pronounceable names, I might be spared.

“Socratic is nerve-wracking, but everyone should experience it,” says Kevin, a veteran of one interrogation. “It’s why law school is a cut above.”

Must be a masochist, I think. As we inch toward the ticket window, I ask Kevin if he considered any other law schools.

He laughs. “Get this. A friend and I are shooting pool at a bar next to a hotel. This is back home in Maryland. My two top choices are Notre Dame and North Carolina, so we’re debating the merits. Because I want a joint JD/MBA, Carolina looks pretty good. It has a better business school, plus cheaper tuition and a warmer climate. But Notre Dame Law School is ranked higher and as a university it offers the intangibles. We argue back and forth until a woman in her 50's gets up from her table and says, ‘It’s none of my business, but if you can get into Notre Dame, you go.’”

I laugh. “Did she give any reasons?”

“Nope, that’s all she says, then walks away.”

“That’s great,” I say.

I keep my how-I-stormed-off-the-wait-list story to myself. It’s a bit of a stigma. I may be on the team, but perhaps I don’t deserve it.

The Notre Dame marching band starts to practice in the adjacent parking lot. We watch the back row of tuba players bob and weave. It’s impressive.

Kevin starts talking football, the lingua franca of Notre Dame. He has his doubts about this year’s squad. “They were 6-5-1 last year and got smoked in the Fiesta Bowl,” he says. “I hope they’re not looking past the first game. Northwestern is returning a bunch of starters, and they’ll play us better than anyone thinks.”

I tell him he’s crazy. Northworstern shouldn’t even be Division I.

We’re finally at the ticket window. I fork over $160 for two packets of season tickets. The price seems high, but I rationalize that in relation to tuition, it’s not so bad.

As I walk back to the library, the marching band strikes up the first bars to the Notre Dame fight song. I can’t help but hum along.

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