My dad grew up listening to Notre Dame football games on the radio from his home in Miami (that's Florida, to my Ohio friends), before he went there and promptly became the biggest Notre Dame fan anyone who knows him has ever met. With that parentage, our family could never be anything but Irish. When we moved from Atlanta to Columbus when I was ten, however, it became clear there was a bigger game in town. We were surrounded by tens of thousands of Ohio State graduates, students, and fans, and almost every single one of them had an inherent dislike of Domers. Here's the story of the last time our teams met, as my family experienced it and as I wrote about it for the ND student magazine my freshman year:
Things came to a head in 1995, when the Irish came to Columbus for the first time in about 60 years. Now, the city paper, the
Dispatch, rarely deigns to write about Notre Dame, but the week of this game stories were all over the paper. Notre Dame had won the two games in the '30s, creating, according to the paper, "ghosts that had annoyed and haunted generations of Buckeye fans." The humiliation of being on the short side of a 2-0 series record still smarted, and the team was aching for revenge.
They got it. My parents were downtown at the game along with a smattering of other loyal Irish fans, but they were lost in that sea of 100,000 red shirts. I was watching the game at home, and as the game progressed and ND fumbled it away in the third quarter, I kept hearing strange noises outside my house: hammering. Lots of it. My neighbor (we'll call him Joe) walked through the house a few times, looking around speculatively. "Joe?" I said a bit nervously. "What are you doing, Joe?" "Where's the garage door opener?" he replied. Followed by: "Do you guys have any extra nails?"
I ventured outside when the construction noises stopped. Our Notre Dame flag had been taken down, replaced by an OSU one. Blinking red Christmas tree lights hung on the bushes. The score had been chalked onto our driveway. Black sheets hung from the garage doors reading, "Quiet please. In mourning." Candles in Ohio State paper bags lined the driveway. And as my parents drove up the street, there were lots of neighbors from up and down the street standing and watching with their arms crossed, nodding approvingly at the redecorating efforts.
The next year the game was played in South Bend. Unfortunately, it was another loss for ND, and the neighbors outdid themselves this time. When we returned home from out of town the next day, we found that in addition to the lights, flag, and score (this time colorfully spray-painted on the lawn), there were also now cardboard tombstones. "R.I.P. ND '96," they announced, and "Here lie the Irish, dead and gone." Black crepe paper was draped on the mailbox and front door. The TV van pulled up a few minutes later.
On the local news that night, after the requisite story about OSU students overturning cars and burning couches in celebration, the anchors turned to the story of the ND alum, my father, who had returned from out of town that day. "He's a huge Notre Dame fan," the voice-over reported as the camera pulled back from the sticker on his car to reveal the mock graveyard. The scene shifted to Joe the neighbor. "He's just so arrogant about it," he said of my father in a long-suffering tone. "It's always 'Notre Dame this' and 'Notre Dame that.'"
"So he asked for this?" confirmed the reporter with a grin.
"Every
day he asks for this," nodded Joe.
My father started laughing, knowing secretly that the arrogance was justified, seeing as he'd gone to, unquestionably, the best school in the country. He got in the last word, too, when the eternal reporter question, "How do you
feel about this?" was put to him. "Oh, there's no hard feelings. I just find it sad, you know, that this football game means so much to Ohio State fans," he said regretfully, forgetting, of course, that had Notre Dame won, all of us Irish fans would have lorded it over the city for weeks, maybe even years. "I mean, people, come on. Get a life."
I don't mean to suggest there aren't nice students at or graduates of Ohio State out of the hundreds of thousands in the city; I personally know three or four of them. (Joke! I am one now, of course.) It was just that the only way we could have been more anathema as football fans in Ohio would have been to be from Michigan. Fortunately, fans of ND and OSU will always have at least that one thing in common: opposition to the Blue.
Addendum: When I decided to return to Columbus after college to attend OSU for law school, my parents never heard the end of it. It turned out it was a pretty nice place to go to school, though, and I had a great experience at the Moritz College of Law at The Ohio State University. It would have been convenient if I had been a fan of the football team, also, since they did win the National Championship my 1L year (a fact which you can never, ever escape in Columbus, particularly if you fly through the airport where the game is on a constant loop in the fan shop). However, I came to the school with my football allegiances too well set to become a Buckeye fan. In 1999, I wrote that if we ever faced OSU again or were in a BCS game, I thought I would go into hiding. Well, here we are, and I've rethought my position, although it might be made easier by the fact that after 15 years I'm no longer resident in Buckeye Central. Be that as it may, no hiding here. I think the Irish can handle the Bucks this year, and I look forward to seeing the Irish prove it on the field next month. I say, bring it on.