The horror, the horror
My voice is AWOL, my heart forever shattered. I am inconsolable. The criminal activity that took place in front of thousands sitting inside hallowed Notre Dame Stadium this weekend left me an exhausted, jaded mess of a man. It is a helpless feeling to know that my complaints fall on deaf ears, as the damage has been irreversibly done.
What a coincidence that a Pac-10 officiating crew somehow managed to miss a blatant penalty on the final play of the greatest college football game of the past decade. Even the most biased Trojan fan admits that USC's star running back, Superman, I mean, Reggie Bush illegally shoved QB Matt Leinart across the goal line. Alas, no yellow flag floated down from heaven. And that is truly a shame. But this injustice pales in comparison to the one that occurred on that same field less than 24 hours earlier when - despite information from several SOLID sources - no Garden State Gods of rock jammed during the Friday night pep rally. Two sleepless nights later, I find myself questioning what it means to be a Catholic, a Notre Dame grad and a guy who went to high school in Jersey.
My friends had heard the rumors before I did: Springsteen was going to be at the pep rally. As unlikely as this sounded, it was a good story because The Boss played the United Center in Chicago on Thursday night. 100 miles from South Bend was clearly doable. Now, the obvious question: why would Springsteen want to go hang out at Notre Dame? Before we answer that, children, we must address another rumor that had students buzzing: Ritchie Sambora was on campus. Actually, this was true. A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless because she should be sentenced to an eternity of Britney tunes as punishment for her pulling one of the all-time dorkiest mom moves ever: she asked the guitarist for Bon Jovi if he was, in fact, Bruce Springsteen. Regardless, this source confirmed that one of the only two members of New Jersey's biggest hard rock band whose names people actually know was on campus. Understandably, then, I swallowed the rumor whole. I mean, if Ritchie is here, then Jon can't be far behind, and if Jon is here, then maybe he called Bruce and invited him to a little jam in support of another Jersey guy: ND head coach Charlie Weis.
And this is where I really fell off the deep end. Maybe they all know each other! Maybe Charlie hangs out backstage when Bruce plays Giants Stadium! Maybe Charlie gives the offensive coordinator for the Philadelphia Soul – Jon’s Arena Football League team – advice and Jon owes him a favor! Additionally, Jon is already friends with Charlie’s old boss, Patriots head coach Bill Bellichick, so maybe the latter placed the call to JBJ that got the whole thing going. What? It could happen.
But I am not so stupid to attend my first pep rally in 17 years based on only one solid confirmation. No, sir. I placed two other calls to “connected people” at ND and they each said the same thing: “Don’t miss the pep rally tonight. It’s going to be special.” On my way to the on-campus bar for a pre-concert, I mean, pep rally tune-up, I got one last bit of proof (as if I needed it): the band of the Fighting Irish was practicing “Livin' on a prayer.”
So many people wanted to attend this pep rally – after all, teams with 27 game winning streaks don’t come to town often – that it was moved from the basketball arena into the football stadium to accommodate the throngs. 40,000 easy. Besides, being outside would make it even awesomer when Jon and Bruce took the stage.
It was a no brainer that they’d take that order: Bon Jovi opening for The Boss. I figured each band would get one song, maybe two for Bruce. Both have huge catalogs, but there wasn’t much doubt as to what they’d play: the aforementioned anthem about Tommy and Gina followed by “Born to Run,” the greatest two-fer in live rock history. Roll over, Beethoven! After hearing those songs played at ND stadium, me and ten friends could have beaten the Trojans. It did occur to me, however, that my khaki pants (I had gotten a little dressed up for my book signing at the school bookstore earlier in the day, the highlight of which was an adoring fan asking me, “Do you know who the authors will be tomorrow?”) would not provide me with adequate camouflage should I “explode” with excitement.
As we sat down in the upper deck, I scanned the field to see where the bands would play. Impressive job, I thought, of hiding the stage. They’ve thought of everything. Then, a large wooden horse – yes, a Trojan horse – was wheeled in. Bingo! My friends – having been infected by my enthusiasm – and I nodded knowingly to one another. And who emerged first? The leprechaun. It was hard to stifle the boo.
25 minutes later, I was beginning to sweat a bit. Charlie Weis had introduced Rudy, like, the squat, ugly guy upon whom Sean Astin’s character in the movie was based. He, meaning Rudy, not Sam Sawise Gamgee, then introduced Tim Brown and Joe Montana, Irish legends, sure, but they weren't going to get us jacked up like Jon or Bruce. 40 minutes in, I remembered that Springsteen is touring solo this time. Who is gonna back him up on “Born to Run?” He can’t get us pumped up acoustically! Armed with this knowledge, I gave up on half the dream. Bruce was simply not going to play the pep rally. It was too good to be true, too much to ask for. But I still had Bon Jovi.
Charlie Weis thanked the guest speakers and eventually concluded by reminding the crowd to cheer like crazy only when the bad guys have the ball and to remain silent when we have it. Then he walked off and boom! Fireworks exploded in the empty section of the stadium! Boom, boom! “This is it!” I yelled. And I was right. That was it: the end of the pep rally. No Jon, no Tommy and Gina. Not even a Ritchie sighting, and to think he might have had Heather with him! I trudged out of the stadium with less excitement than I’d had prior to any event in my life, including my Calculus final senior year of high school. Go Irish. Rah, rah.
My “sources” denied ever confirming the Bon Jovi rumors. The “special” thing they mentioned meant Rudy. Seriously. But I did finally get my “Livin’ on a prayer” fix. When the marching band played it at halftime.
What a coincidence that a Pac-10 officiating crew somehow managed to miss a blatant penalty on the final play of the greatest college football game of the past decade. Even the most biased Trojan fan admits that USC's star running back, Superman, I mean, Reggie Bush illegally shoved QB Matt Leinart across the goal line. Alas, no yellow flag floated down from heaven. And that is truly a shame. But this injustice pales in comparison to the one that occurred on that same field less than 24 hours earlier when - despite information from several SOLID sources - no Garden State Gods of rock jammed during the Friday night pep rally. Two sleepless nights later, I find myself questioning what it means to be a Catholic, a Notre Dame grad and a guy who went to high school in Jersey.
My friends had heard the rumors before I did: Springsteen was going to be at the pep rally. As unlikely as this sounded, it was a good story because The Boss played the United Center in Chicago on Thursday night. 100 miles from South Bend was clearly doable. Now, the obvious question: why would Springsteen want to go hang out at Notre Dame? Before we answer that, children, we must address another rumor that had students buzzing: Ritchie Sambora was on campus. Actually, this was true. A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless because she should be sentenced to an eternity of Britney tunes as punishment for her pulling one of the all-time dorkiest mom moves ever: she asked the guitarist for Bon Jovi if he was, in fact, Bruce Springsteen. Regardless, this source confirmed that one of the only two members of New Jersey's biggest hard rock band whose names people actually know was on campus. Understandably, then, I swallowed the rumor whole. I mean, if Ritchie is here, then Jon can't be far behind, and if Jon is here, then maybe he called Bruce and invited him to a little jam in support of another Jersey guy: ND head coach Charlie Weis.
And this is where I really fell off the deep end. Maybe they all know each other! Maybe Charlie hangs out backstage when Bruce plays Giants Stadium! Maybe Charlie gives the offensive coordinator for the Philadelphia Soul – Jon’s Arena Football League team – advice and Jon owes him a favor! Additionally, Jon is already friends with Charlie’s old boss, Patriots head coach Bill Bellichick, so maybe the latter placed the call to JBJ that got the whole thing going. What? It could happen.
But I am not so stupid to attend my first pep rally in 17 years based on only one solid confirmation. No, sir. I placed two other calls to “connected people” at ND and they each said the same thing: “Don’t miss the pep rally tonight. It’s going to be special.” On my way to the on-campus bar for a pre-concert, I mean, pep rally tune-up, I got one last bit of proof (as if I needed it): the band of the Fighting Irish was practicing “Livin' on a prayer.”
So many people wanted to attend this pep rally – after all, teams with 27 game winning streaks don’t come to town often – that it was moved from the basketball arena into the football stadium to accommodate the throngs. 40,000 easy. Besides, being outside would make it even awesomer when Jon and Bruce took the stage.
It was a no brainer that they’d take that order: Bon Jovi opening for The Boss. I figured each band would get one song, maybe two for Bruce. Both have huge catalogs, but there wasn’t much doubt as to what they’d play: the aforementioned anthem about Tommy and Gina followed by “Born to Run,” the greatest two-fer in live rock history. Roll over, Beethoven! After hearing those songs played at ND stadium, me and ten friends could have beaten the Trojans. It did occur to me, however, that my khaki pants (I had gotten a little dressed up for my book signing at the school bookstore earlier in the day, the highlight of which was an adoring fan asking me, “Do you know who the authors will be tomorrow?”) would not provide me with adequate camouflage should I “explode” with excitement.
As we sat down in the upper deck, I scanned the field to see where the bands would play. Impressive job, I thought, of hiding the stage. They’ve thought of everything. Then, a large wooden horse – yes, a Trojan horse – was wheeled in. Bingo! My friends – having been infected by my enthusiasm – and I nodded knowingly to one another. And who emerged first? The leprechaun. It was hard to stifle the boo.
25 minutes later, I was beginning to sweat a bit. Charlie Weis had introduced Rudy, like, the squat, ugly guy upon whom Sean Astin’s character in the movie was based. He, meaning Rudy, not Sam Sawise Gamgee, then introduced Tim Brown and Joe Montana, Irish legends, sure, but they weren't going to get us jacked up like Jon or Bruce. 40 minutes in, I remembered that Springsteen is touring solo this time. Who is gonna back him up on “Born to Run?” He can’t get us pumped up acoustically! Armed with this knowledge, I gave up on half the dream. Bruce was simply not going to play the pep rally. It was too good to be true, too much to ask for. But I still had Bon Jovi.
Charlie Weis thanked the guest speakers and eventually concluded by reminding the crowd to cheer like crazy only when the bad guys have the ball and to remain silent when we have it. Then he walked off and boom! Fireworks exploded in the empty section of the stadium! Boom, boom! “This is it!” I yelled. And I was right. That was it: the end of the pep rally. No Jon, no Tommy and Gina. Not even a Ritchie sighting, and to think he might have had Heather with him! I trudged out of the stadium with less excitement than I’d had prior to any event in my life, including my Calculus final senior year of high school. Go Irish. Rah, rah.
My “sources” denied ever confirming the Bon Jovi rumors. The “special” thing they mentioned meant Rudy. Seriously. But I did finally get my “Livin’ on a prayer” fix. When the marching band played it at halftime.
posted by Jamo at 7:20 PM
6 Comments:
I just found out that my "source" even screwed up the Ritchie Sambora thing. She actually met Scott Weiland, the Velvet Revolver singer. Gotta love the moms!
I feel your pain. That call was bullshit! ND had it!
You failed to mention your one big "victory" over the weekend: the Irish were a lock getting 11 1/2 points. Please tell me you had at least a dime on them?? Didn't "Jamie the Greek" call that one? Please tell me you followed your own advice? Who do you have this week, Greek?
Yee of little faith. It's nice paying for a weekend trip thanks to the Irish! But how's this for a little betting drama? When USC got penalized for excessive cheating, I mean, celebrating after the last TD, it moved the extra point back 15 yards. The kicker missed it. For some investors, that turned out to be huge because the 2nd half spread was SC -10.5; the PAT would have made it 11 and a winner. Doh!
Extra income duly noted.
Actually, I was investing for a church charity that helps homeless kids. With cancer. And no video games. It's really sad.
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