You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
Appearances and stigmas.
Like, if you wear Cardinal and Gold you must suck. If you wear these colors you are the enemy, you must be of the wrong religious persuasion and from the wrong socio-economic side of the track.
Conversely, if you wear blue and green you are undoubtedly a drunk Irishman, a devout Catholic, a person of means.
Stereotypes. They are crazy.
And never was this was more evident to me than this weekend in the hallowed strip malls and dive bars that is South Bend, Indiana.
USC vs ND.
It was the battle of two of the most prestigious universities in the nation. Few rivalries have more tradition than this one.
I’m talking the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame vs the Trojans of the University of Southern California.
It’s West Coast cool versus Mid-America reserve.
It’s Catholics vs University of Spoiled Children.
It’s Knute Rockne vs John Robinson and Pete Carroll vs Lou Holtz.
USC vs ND is like black vs white, like up vs down.
The schools are similar in so many ways. The schools are completely different on so many levels.
“It’s arguably the greatest inter sectional rivalry in the country” NBC announcer Tom Hammond said early into the broadcast.
The rivalry dates back to depression era America, started by Knute Rockne in 1926. Hammond tells the story – the first game was suggested by Rockne’s wife. So the coach does what every man does – listens to his wife and loads his boys on the train and brings them to La La land and plays the Trojans.
The Irish win.
And an “event” was born.
So I’m at the tailgate party of this massive undulating fiesta in the shadow of touchdown Jesus and the golden dome.
Kilt wearing bag pipers are prowling the perimeter. Shamrock wearing co-eds are perusing the parking lot. There are are all manner of Irish sweat shirts and blue and gold jerseys cooking brats, drinking beers, throwing footballs.
I’m with a mixed bag of fans; a couple of Trojans decked out in Cardinal and Gold and a lot more friends wearing the colors of the Irish.
It’s a night game so the crowd has plenty of time to get lubricated.
By the time the sun is setting, we are getting dirty looks and saltier language.
“Trojans Suck” is a common theme. And that’s from the kids walking by.
I feel the anger and the ire of the Irish.
I wear my almamater proudly on my chest, but as the game approaches, and the crowd’s collective brain swells with booze, I feel the hostility intensify.
At noon, the jokes are good natured, but now under the influence of a field sobriety test, the rancor is growing palpable.
My Trojan buddy is hammered. He leans over to me and says; “AC I’m going try and stay calm, but if any Irish says anything to me, IT’S ON!”
“It’s on?”
WTF?
“It’s on!” from a guy who is normally more gentle than a sleeping lamb.
We walk into the stadium and it’s anger personified. There are 82,000 people trying to cram into the same space. Try cramming a swollen foot into a high heel pump, and you begin to understand the pressure.
Most of the crowd is decked out in Blue and Gold. If you are wearing Cardinal and Gold you are a target, a bad guy, a jerk.
Because you are wearing red you are obviously a schmuck. Because you matriculated at one of the finest institutions in the land, you are a west coast sleaze bag who is more worthless than soiled toilet paper in a stagnating puddle of beer.
I tell my Trojan buddy; “look this is their house. You don’t go into someone elses house and act rude. Be cool.”
He smiles. I cannot see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses.
We climb the stairs and squeeze down row 31. it’s like an old h.s. stadium. There is barely enough room to manuever by fans all ready seated.
Everyone on the 50 yard line is wearing green or blue. They eye the people in red with tremendous suspicion.
“Trojans dare sit in this rarefied air?” Their thoughts are so loud, they are piercing.
We’re sitting on the 50 yard line thanks to some awesome connections and good friends. These tickets are in the middle of old school Irish fans.
We squeeze in as quietly as we can.
“Let’s celebrate on the down low,” I say.
From the beginning we will test that theory. The Trojans take the ball and ram it down the Irish’s throat on their first possession.
The crowd is angry and blames the Pac 12 refs and accuse USC of paying off the officials.
It’s a blistering tirade of fans who have delusions of grandeur and even worse, a sense of entitlement.
Old men, old women, young men, young women, the snipes and bitches come from all over the stands. And this is the high rent district.
I can only imagine what it is like wearing Cardinal and Gold in the cheap seats.
Brutal.
We stay calm as Barkley coolly fires a dart to his tight end standing alone in the endzone. A quiet fist bump and it’s on.
The wind comes out of the ND sail when they fumble the ball on their own 4 yard line. Had they scored it would have been tied at
17 – 17. Instead, the USC safety scoops up the fumble and rumbles 80 yards to the house.
BALL GAME.
IT’S A 14 POINT SWING AND USC IS NOW UP 24 -10.
The crowd is fuming. I see water bottles and balls of wadded up cardboard flying toward the field.
We quietly fist pump and stay quiet out of respect to those around us.
With a few minutes to go, the crowd leaves with their blue and gold tail between its legs.
I didn’t see it, but the story around our tailgate after the game was that of an Irish fan, who has all but lost his mind in the heat of this battle. He is a bull looking for a red cape. There is red all around the parking lot and the red is celebrating. The bull must charge!
El Toro!
The Irish Bull will say two Trojans were talking junk and wouldn’t get out of his way so he lowered his shoulder and put them both on the ground.
The Irish Bull is a good guy, a good soul, a deeply respectful man, who bleeds Blue.
But on this occasion, the Trojans were wearing Cardinal and Gold and he was wearing blue and gold and his path and their path were in the same path and something had to give.
It was them.
BLAM!
I’m just saying, if they aren’t wearing what they are wearing, and he isn’t wearing what he is wearing, I am sure that at some point, someone side steps the other guy.
I was in Chicago, just the day before. I didn’t knock down one person who was dressed in dark drab clothing.
I’m glad the Trojans won. I am glad I went to the game.
But it makes me wonder if watching at home or in a sports bar isn’t less dangerous, and less of a hassle.
Stereotypes and preconceptions.
That is crazy.