It has been a magical season and with one week and four quarters left, Notre Dame is fighting for a chance to play for a National Championship. The ride has been an enchanting fairytale for us fans. As I look back at what has occurred up to this point of the season, I thought it would be fun to list where I watched each game.
Feel free to let Notre Dame Nation know where you were, as it is fun to see how we got to 11-0.
@Navy: 6:00am local time at home in Scottsdale, Arizona
v. Purdue: Dulles International Airport, Washington D.C.
@ Michigan St.: Hohenfels Army Base, Germany
Michigan: Hohenfels Army Base, Germany (at 1:00am)
Miami: Back at home in Scottsdale, Arizona
Stanford: Conducting National Guard training in Florence, Arizona
BYU: In the Groom’s Room before my best friend’s wedding in Mesa, Arizona
@Oklahoma: At home in Scottsdale, Arizona
Pittsburgh: At home in Scottsdale, Arizona. I believe I had 4 heart attacks that afternoon.
@ Boston College: On the iPhone during my cousins wedding in Phoenix, Arizona
Wake Forest: Conducting National Guard training in Florence, Arizona
USC: Most likely alone at home, living and dying with every play, praying for a shot at the title.
The journey to 11-0 has taken me across the United States and the world. I have enjoyed the struggles, the stressors, and most importantly, the celebrations.
One win to go for a shot at it all. Go Irish.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Cheer, Cheer for Old Notre Dame
Originally posted on August 27, 2009 on CBSSports.com
Notre Dame Fighting Irish football. These simple words incite intrigue and debate, sparking conversation both pro and con, inducing words of concurrence and disgust. What is considered by many as the greatest collegiate football program is undoubtedly the most storied. As with the New York Yankees, the Duke Blue Devils, and the Dallas Cowboys, people either love or hate the Irish; there is no middle ground.
I am a fan of Notre Dame.
As a Roman Catholic child being raised in the Pacific 10 infested area of the Greater Los Angeles basin, I learned from an early age what autumn and Saturday meant. My father, as his father before him, breathed Fighting Irish football (a fact cemented at my grandfathers’ funeral, for as his casket left St. Thomas the Apostle Catholic Church, the Notre Dame fight song was played). No one in my family carries the distinction of being an alum, yet a diploma from the university is not needed to watch and admire the team. Being a nationally televised program, Notre Dame games were passionately voiced by Peter Jackson, and on Saturday mornings, the television was filled with golden domes and leprechauns.
I grew up watching players such as Tim Brown, Tony Rice, Ricky Watters, Jerome Bettis, Rick Mirer, and every child’s favorite ‘Rocket’ Ismail. Reenacting game breaking plays on the asphalt fields of Southern California, as most children did, connected me further with the team from South Bend. My father taught me the tradition unmatched by no other school: The Four Horsemen, the 11 National Championships, the 7 Heisman trophy winners, and what it meant to be a fan of Notre Dame. My first memories of watching and understanding the great sport of football occurred during their epic matches, and I learned early on what disappointment felt like and how to be a humble fan. Humility is necessary for Irish follower. Unlike the pompous fans of USC, the prideful fans of Michigan, or the annoying fans of Michigan State, Notre Dame fans carry themselves in a different way. I say this more from a hopeful observational stance for I know very few Notre Dame fans. Living now in Phoenix, Arizona, I am the exception. No one here routes for Notre Dame success.
After a very brief (and extremely exciting) National Championship in 1988 at the age of 6, I have not had a season to celebrate since. I am known by all as an Irish supporter, yet I never am outspoken about the team and their exploits. Never too high, never too low (yes, even in 2007), for me a simple, “Go Irish” says all I need to say. There is no need to carry pride on my shoulder, for if I do, Notre Dame will put me in my place. Take for example 1993. After upsetting #1 ranked Florida State, newly crowned #1 Notre Dame loses on a last second field goal to Boston College. With the kick went the national title hopes. One week of being proud instantly flushed, by a fellow Catholic college no less. How about 2005? The “Bush push” leads USC over Notre Dame after a suspenseful fourth quarter. A 22 year old kid has his heart broken, and his friends are there to stomp it into the pavement.
One thing I’ve learned with the losses comes persecution. As stated earlier, I am not outspoken about Notre Dame, I am only straightforward in my support of the team. There is no ‘shit talking’ for a truly am pessimistic as each opponent is faced. Yet when Notre Dame does not gain victory, text messages and phone calls are aplenty. I almost am masochistic when dealing with the pain of defeat. I own scars from past gridiron battles lost, and I feel them in my soul. When the Victory March plays, it is the anthem of my spirit and the battle hymn of my team. It is what sets me apart from all other supporters of different teams. I know the band wagoners, chasing National Championships with their college football alliances. They know not what true defeat is for they have never truly cared for a football team. Seeing as how I am a dying breed, I find there is no one to help console my wounds.
Not a soul, expect dear old dad.
It is with great optimism every year that I welcome a new season. Each game represents another chance. With victory comes elation. With elation comes hope. The other beauty I find in winning is not making phone calls to my USC, Purdue, Navy, Michigan and Michigan State friends. When I see them I say nothing of the previous weekend and the match that occurred. They know.
Although most of the country dogs Notre Dame, not many have legit reasons why. Most my close acquaintances don’t like them due to the fact that I do. Perhaps the majority feel the Irish are allotted too much time in the media spotlight or that there is too much emphasis on a team that has done little in the past two decades. I can understand these points of view, and is most cases, I wish ESPN would lay off the constant Irish watching. Let us do our football do the talking. That way when we don’t perform up to our standard, I can sit through a telecast and observe what else is going on in the world of NCAA football. Because when Notre Dame plays poorly, the media lets you know.
Why do so many people love the sport? No paychecks, no crying, just passion. It represents (especially in scorching Phoenix) the end of summer and the beginning of heaven. We must all respect the opposition and have that hope for our team and their aspirations. All true fans of all teams have their stories of their love affairs with college football. This was mine. Go Irish.
Notre Dame Fighting Irish football. These simple words incite intrigue and debate, sparking conversation both pro and con, inducing words of concurrence and disgust. What is considered by many as the greatest collegiate football program is undoubtedly the most storied. As with the New York Yankees, the Duke Blue Devils, and the Dallas Cowboys, people either love or hate the Irish; there is no middle ground.
I am a fan of Notre Dame.
As a Roman Catholic child being raised in the Pacific 10 infested area of the Greater Los Angeles basin, I learned from an early age what autumn and Saturday meant. My father, as his father before him, breathed Fighting Irish football (a fact cemented at my grandfathers’ funeral, for as his casket left St. Thomas the Apostle Catholic Church, the Notre Dame fight song was played). No one in my family carries the distinction of being an alum, yet a diploma from the university is not needed to watch and admire the team. Being a nationally televised program, Notre Dame games were passionately voiced by Peter Jackson, and on Saturday mornings, the television was filled with golden domes and leprechauns.
I grew up watching players such as Tim Brown, Tony Rice, Ricky Watters, Jerome Bettis, Rick Mirer, and every child’s favorite ‘Rocket’ Ismail. Reenacting game breaking plays on the asphalt fields of Southern California, as most children did, connected me further with the team from South Bend. My father taught me the tradition unmatched by no other school: The Four Horsemen, the 11 National Championships, the 7 Heisman trophy winners, and what it meant to be a fan of Notre Dame. My first memories of watching and understanding the great sport of football occurred during their epic matches, and I learned early on what disappointment felt like and how to be a humble fan. Humility is necessary for Irish follower. Unlike the pompous fans of USC, the prideful fans of Michigan, or the annoying fans of Michigan State, Notre Dame fans carry themselves in a different way. I say this more from a hopeful observational stance for I know very few Notre Dame fans. Living now in Phoenix, Arizona, I am the exception. No one here routes for Notre Dame success.
After a very brief (and extremely exciting) National Championship in 1988 at the age of 6, I have not had a season to celebrate since. I am known by all as an Irish supporter, yet I never am outspoken about the team and their exploits. Never too high, never too low (yes, even in 2007), for me a simple, “Go Irish” says all I need to say. There is no need to carry pride on my shoulder, for if I do, Notre Dame will put me in my place. Take for example 1993. After upsetting #1 ranked Florida State, newly crowned #1 Notre Dame loses on a last second field goal to Boston College. With the kick went the national title hopes. One week of being proud instantly flushed, by a fellow Catholic college no less. How about 2005? The “Bush push” leads USC over Notre Dame after a suspenseful fourth quarter. A 22 year old kid has his heart broken, and his friends are there to stomp it into the pavement.
One thing I’ve learned with the losses comes persecution. As stated earlier, I am not outspoken about Notre Dame, I am only straightforward in my support of the team. There is no ‘shit talking’ for a truly am pessimistic as each opponent is faced. Yet when Notre Dame does not gain victory, text messages and phone calls are aplenty. I almost am masochistic when dealing with the pain of defeat. I own scars from past gridiron battles lost, and I feel them in my soul. When the Victory March plays, it is the anthem of my spirit and the battle hymn of my team. It is what sets me apart from all other supporters of different teams. I know the band wagoners, chasing National Championships with their college football alliances. They know not what true defeat is for they have never truly cared for a football team. Seeing as how I am a dying breed, I find there is no one to help console my wounds.
Not a soul, expect dear old dad.
It is with great optimism every year that I welcome a new season. Each game represents another chance. With victory comes elation. With elation comes hope. The other beauty I find in winning is not making phone calls to my USC, Purdue, Navy, Michigan and Michigan State friends. When I see them I say nothing of the previous weekend and the match that occurred. They know.
Although most of the country dogs Notre Dame, not many have legit reasons why. Most my close acquaintances don’t like them due to the fact that I do. Perhaps the majority feel the Irish are allotted too much time in the media spotlight or that there is too much emphasis on a team that has done little in the past two decades. I can understand these points of view, and is most cases, I wish ESPN would lay off the constant Irish watching. Let us do our football do the talking. That way when we don’t perform up to our standard, I can sit through a telecast and observe what else is going on in the world of NCAA football. Because when Notre Dame plays poorly, the media lets you know.
Why do so many people love the sport? No paychecks, no crying, just passion. It represents (especially in scorching Phoenix) the end of summer and the beginning of heaven. We must all respect the opposition and have that hope for our team and their aspirations. All true fans of all teams have their stories of their love affairs with college football. This was mine. Go Irish.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Change
Originally posted March 20, 2007 on MySpace
Okay boys and girls, here's another life lesson brought to you by me!
Change is not an easy thing for some to deal with. We all know and accept the fact that change is a constant (okay, maybe not all of us per se). As human beings, we deal and adapt on a yearly, monthly, daily, and hourly basis. It is due to this simple fact of life greatness can be achieved and success can be reached. Although I am not currently changing the world, although we do with every new person we meet and interaction we partake in, I do feel that I am evolving. No, I have not found the cure for cancer (I'm so close though!) All I did was get a knew place of occupation.
We've all done it at least once. If not, get a job you lazy bum! I exited the United States Army and went back to the place of my previous employment prior to active duty service. The dry cleaners. The boss there is awesome, the pay sucks, and the environment is shit. I've had my opportunities to leave, yet never pursued them for fear of change. Come to think of it, this is most likely the same scenario for staying single. Change can be difficult.
I have finally broken through the chains of bondage fear of change has locked upon me (a little dramatic, huh? Hey, it's how I feel, so fuck off). I didn't get a job as a nuclear scientist or anything outrageous. No, I am now working at the Westin Kierland Resort and Spa on Greenway and Scottsdale Rd. I'll be a 'Service Express Attendant'...a bellman. Not the most exciting occupation to say the least, but the pros out way the cons, with room for moving up a major factor.
Perhaps the most important thing for me is the change of scenery. I now have a much more professional environment to work in. I have a new routine. God knows in time this routine will be a hassle and I will grow to dislike the drive up Scottsdale Rd. everyday. Or maybe it will be the opposite. I realize this now: Change is good. Watch out ladies.
Change is not an easy thing for some to deal with. We all know and accept the fact that change is a constant (okay, maybe not all of us per se). As human beings, we deal and adapt on a yearly, monthly, daily, and hourly basis. It is due to this simple fact of life greatness can be achieved and success can be reached. Although I am not currently changing the world, although we do with every new person we meet and interaction we partake in, I do feel that I am evolving. No, I have not found the cure for cancer (I'm so close though!) All I did was get a knew place of occupation.
We've all done it at least once. If not, get a job you lazy bum! I exited the United States Army and went back to the place of my previous employment prior to active duty service. The dry cleaners. The boss there is awesome, the pay sucks, and the environment is shit. I've had my opportunities to leave, yet never pursued them for fear of change. Come to think of it, this is most likely the same scenario for staying single. Change can be difficult.
I have finally broken through the chains of bondage fear of change has locked upon me (a little dramatic, huh? Hey, it's how I feel, so fuck off). I didn't get a job as a nuclear scientist or anything outrageous. No, I am now working at the Westin Kierland Resort and Spa on Greenway and Scottsdale Rd. I'll be a 'Service Express Attendant'...a bellman. Not the most exciting occupation to say the least, but the pros out way the cons, with room for moving up a major factor.
Perhaps the most important thing for me is the change of scenery. I now have a much more professional environment to work in. I have a new routine. God knows in time this routine will be a hassle and I will grow to dislike the drive up Scottsdale Rd. everyday. Or maybe it will be the opposite. I realize this now: Change is good. Watch out ladies.
Road Work
Originally posted September 27, 2007 on MySpace.
Life goals. We all had them as children, although they we much more optimistic and broad. I want to be a firefighter. An astronaut. A teacher. Whatever the goal of life was, it was within reach. As we grew older, the reality of life began to sink its teeth into the dreams we held. I find now that I am on the path not that I chose as a first grader, but the path that made sense. Sometimes the path of least resistance, sometimes the path that went awry, although meant with good intentions. Here we are. So what now?
To quote the greatest song of all time, "...there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there's still time to change the road your on." Not every path we are on is a negative one. In the same token, not every road leads to success, both professionally and as an individual. It is recognizing the roads that are in need of repair that allow us to better who and what we are. So where am I going with all of this? I recently wrote down life goals on a piece of paper. Yes, some we absurd. Life is not worth living, however, if you don't strive for the absurd. Others are attainable. It is just the matter of putting forth the effort, beginning the construction work on the road, to reach what is within grasp. Perhaps I just needed to write this to motivate my ass...or maybe to motivate you.
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