Week Two, Part 9 - Upset!

The pre-game celebration for a football game at Notre Dame is an American festival. As if by magic, 100,000 fans appear, buzzing about the campus. Nerf balls and frisbees fill the air. Rows of marigolds bloom in immaculate beds.

Holding hands, Terri and I push through the crowds to the law school. We’ve missed the “Tailgater of the Century,” but there’s still plenty to do. I show Terri my classrooms (locked) and the library (deserted).

We walk upstairs to the third floor atrium. I point out my study cube. “This is where I read the paper.”

She stares at me, one eyebrow arched in suspicion.

In the student lounge, we mingle at a reception for the “Notre Dame Law School Community,” which appears to mean anyone willing to eat free weenies and chips.

I point out the Pillsbury College pennant now hanging from the ceiling. Terri is also a Pilly grad – captain of the Comet cheerleaders, in fact – and wants a closer look. We walk up, hands clasped behind our backs, and admire the white letters on blue felt. True to his word, the president of the Student Bar Association has hung the pennant beside one from Cornell University.

I scratch my chin. “Hmm. I forget. Which school is in the Ivy League?”

Notre Dame stadium holds about 60,000 people. The other fans are here to tailgate or just hang out. Terri has lived in South Bend for ten years and I’m surprised at how many people she knows. We bump into two of her co-workers from AT&T, Lisa and Emily. Both are ticketless but seem not to mind.

"Home games are great," Lisa says. "It’s the only day of the year you can roll out of bed and have a beer."

A half hour before game time we head into the stadium. Northwestern, wearing their hideous purple, is on the field warming up. The “Mildcats” are a 28-point underdog. Notre Dame is ranked in the AP's Top Ten, appropriate for the winningest college football team of all time.

Terri and I find our seats in the student section. We’re in the corner of the north end zone about 30 rows up. Most of the students are wearing “The Shirt.” It’s a blue pullover with a specially designed motif about Notre Dame football. Proceeds from its sale go to support student-run clubs and an emergency aid fund.

I tell Terri that I should be studying.

She gives me a pitiless look.

“I bet some of my classmates are.”

“We didn’t enroll at Notre Dame to sit at home on Saturday afternoons!”

“You’re right. One afternoon is nothing.”

I scan the crowd for classmates. The more I see, the better I feel. Kevin Patrick is two rows behind me. John Edgar is in the handicap section right below the press box. I don’t see Susan Wilson, but remember that she’s gone home to Kentucky. Every other weekend she drives six hours back to see her family.

Students crowd in around us and begin to chant, “Here we go Irish, here we go.” Clap. Clap. “Here we go Irish, here we go.” We stand on our bench and join in.

I pull out a small packet of CivPro flashcards from my pocket. The top one reads, “When you're confronted with a jurisdiction problem, what seven points do you consider, in order?”

I flip it over and read the list: “1 - subject matter jurisdiction; 2 - personal jurisdiction; 3 - notice and opportunity to be heard; 4 - service of process; 5 - venue; 6 - removal; 7 - waiver.”

Beautiful, I think. I can meditate on this card all game.

The Notre Dame marching band highsteps onto the field, then Coach Lou Holtz leads the Irish to the near sideline. I can’t believe how close we are to the players! When they butt helmets and slap pads, I can hear it.

The band begins to play "America the Beautiful." Our section is already standing. The rest of the crowd rises to its feet and begins to sing.

For us, though, the moment is interrupted as a male student staggers down our row. He’s reeks of alcohol and there are nacho cheese stains across the front of The Shirt.

“Gotta pee! I gotta pee!” he says, words heavy and slurred. Nearby students point and laugh.

Notre Dame kicks off and stops the Wildcats cold on three plays. After the punt, ND’s offense comes on the field.

"Watch us march it in for a touchdown," I say.

Oops! Notre Dame running back Randy Kinder fumbles. Northwestern scores several minutes later.

“It's okay,” I tell Terri. “The final score’s gonna read 48-17. Say you heard it here first.”

Kinder never sees action the rest of the half. He sits on the bench, towel over his head. Ah, yes. Public humiliation second only to the Socratic method.

The student section is still noisy. “We are” – clap, clap – “N.D.” Clap, clap. We do helicopter hand signals to accompany the kick off. But under the hot sun and dismal performance, we begin to wilt.

At halftime the Irish are down 10-9. I try to be confident. Terri asks why Coach Holtz keeps calling the same running play up the middle.

I rub Terri’s shoulders. She says she’s ready to go. Her back hurts and it’s a lousy game.

I convince her to wait until we see how the Irish do in the second half. That takes all of one drive. Notre Dame looks clueless.

As we walk out of the stadium, Northwestern scores again. Now the score is 17-9, Wildcats.

The crowd outside is subdued as well. We cut through the tailgaters to our car, about a mile away.

On the ride home, I listen to the game. Notre Dame scores, closing the gap to 17-15. Then they get the ball back.

Still time for a Joe Montana finish.

Instead, Northwestern stops the Irish on a 4th and 2.

Game over.

The radio announcer says, "Of late, the defining moments for Notre Dame have not been positive."

Just my luck, I think. My first game at Notre Dame and I witness one of the most stunning upsets in college football history!

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