Growing up we had four or five channels on television, and most days that wasn’t much to get excited about. Yet every fall, as the leaves took on their fiery hues and a fresh crispness filled the air something extraordinary would happen… the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame would storm onto the football field that doubled as my very own living room.
It was a show like no other. I would imagine myself defending that hallowed field of green, pushing opposing quarterbacks past their end zone, back to wherever it was from which they had dared to come; exhilarating the faithful under the watchful gaze of Touchdown Jesus… not in our house!
As you might imagine, when Annabelle and I found ourselves passing through South Bend, Indiana, there was no way I could keep from running around that familiar golden dome… a campus I had never set foot on, yet had visited a millions times.
So, just for today, please pardon the sentimental imagery and clumsily nostalgic prose. I am a terrible writer, but this… is Notre Dame.
Not to mention I’m totally expecting pity points in the form of a full-tuition MFA scholarship. Totally. Dude.
Transcripts available upon request.
About this image: digital photograph, moderately modified