The core memories begin with the sycamore leaves. Donned in Fighting Irish gear, kicking those huge brown and gold leaves covering the sidewalks on campus.
The walk from the Notre Dame Firehouse to Notre Dame Stadium felt like a pilgrimage to a magical place. I still can’t shake that feeling.
I was nervous for the first game ever attended, as in my family, you had to prove you were worthy to sit in those seats.
I was competitive. We were a five-member family with four tickets to the game. I had to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that one of those tickets should be for me.
The walk would always take me back to that first game feeling, even as the number of games attended rose. There was just something about those big sycamore leaves.
On October 15, 1988, however, that walk was made with a purpose. The leaves were ignored. The sense of wonder was replaced by a confidence right on the edge of arrogance. I was never so sure of a Notre Dame victory as I was that day. I was never more convinced. I was never as prepared for a game. I was focused.
It was my sophomore year at St. Joseph High School in South Bend. My obsession with the Notre Dame football team was at a fever pitch. I cut out all the articles from the newspapers to plaster my bedroom walls. I consumed the information my Uncle Paul, who was a fireman at the University (hence the ability to park at the firehouse and walk to the game), brought home from the press box.
I sat in my classes at St. Joe repeatedly writing out play-by-plays for the upcoming game. This is how the first drive would go. This is the exact yardage of the play and who would get each tackle. This is how many touchdowns Tony Rice would run for. This is how many sacks Chris Zorich would have. This is, grudgingly, how many touchdowns Steve Walsh would throw. This is how many field goals Reggie Ho would kick.
I took pride in knowing exactly how much time there was until kickoff of the Miami game as far back as the first weeks of school in September. ‘Forty-four days, two hours and (would look at the clock) 15 minutes until kick.’ My memory of those days tells me people asked for that information. Odds are that was all in my head.
The game meant so much because there was a natural momentum in not only the Notre Dame football program at that time, but in my development as a fan of the team.
I started to become aware that Notre Dame football was something special when my entire family gathered around the television at home and yelled at it over the course of four hours. They cheered for good plays, heckled the officials for bad calls and in the early to mid 1980s, usually walked away angry after a loss.
I take it for granted now but the fundamentals of football can be maddening to learn. This was before the modern television screen that provides most of the game information. In the 1980s you were lucky if they put the score on the screen. What down is it? Who has the ball? How much time is left? What the heck is encroachment?
I sat there with my family, tried to figure it out and as my knowledge caught up to the game, college football caught up to Gerry Faust. After five mediocre years he resigned in 1985 and Notre Dame had one more game to play at Miami.
It was the ultimate gut punch for the end of that era. Miami was on top of the college football world and they didn’t mind letting you know about it. The final was 58-7. Ara Parseghian was the television analyst for the game. I have memories of watching that game with my family and how we felt. Ara said it best toward the end of the game ‘from these ashes a phoenix shall rise.’
Lou Holtz took over and my fandom truly took off. The 1986 season, even at 13 years old, I knew it was a team that looked different. The tremendous tease of an 8-1 start in 1987 with a victory over top-10 Alabama that ended with a reality check 0-3 finish and yet another loss to Miami.
Everyone circled October 15, 1988, after that 24-0 loss in ‘87. We were going to be ready.
No one was more ready than me. I had my ‘Miami SUX’ t-shirt with the U of the t-shirt represented by Miami’s U logo. The back of the t-shirt had Jimmy Johnson’s caricature with the Ghostbusters symbol over it.
In my final version of the play-by-play of the game I had Reggie Ho kicking a game-winning field goal as time expired. I entered the stadium as early as I could – I even walked there without my family – because I was CONVINCED there would be a fight.
I don’t have to get into all those details. You all know it by now. The teams didn’t like each other. The fans didn’t like each other. It was all coming together on one glorious fall day.
By the time Miami tried to leave the field for warm ups and decided to cut through our unusually long line of players on the endzone line and a scuffle broke out, no one in Notre Dame Stadium would sit back down. Not only was I ready, not only was the fandom ready, but the team was ready too.
The memories are a blur but they are still there. The turnovers by both teams. The deep throw to Rocket who would have scored if he didn’t fall. My favorite player Steve Belles stuffing the fake punt by Miami. Frank Stams strip sacks. Pat Terrell returning tipped interceptions. Jimmy Johnson going for two.
My Dad always tells the story that he turned to me to celebrate and I was gone. I was on the field already. I remember running toward the team, gathered around the student section and looking up at the scoreboard. The final was 31-30. That final play-by-play I drew up before the game? That final read 31-30.
As I look back now, I can still feel my emotions at that moment. I have experienced more amazing things in my life but in my time at Notre Dame as an employee or as a fan no moment has matched that early evening on October 15, 1988.
I believe that this weekend’s renewal of the Miami rivalry will provide that moment to a similarly-obsessed young Notre Dame fan. Am I as arrogant and cocky for a victory as I was in 1988? Age has mellowed me in that area and my responsibilities on game day preclude me from getting as hyped as I was in ‘88.
The build up to this moment is real, though. If you can’t feel it, then take a walk on campus this weekend, kick the sycamore leaves around and enjoy the magic.
The 42nd Degree is written by Alan Wasielewski.
Alan has worked on campus as a member of the athletic communications team and video production unit since his graduation from Notre Dame in 2000.
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