Introducing…well, me

It was just my fifth chemistry lecture in college. But that was when it happened. At the end of class, my professor took a match and threw it on the table. This guy has to be crazy to do that. But he was only crazy about football.

The flame shone green and spelled out "Go Irish" while my professor said in his Scottish accent "Go Eye-riiishh" on the eve of the first game of the season. (Side note: a green flame means calcium, right? Or potassium? Hell if I know, I'm a business major now.) To have a tenured, respected professor willingly set his classroom on fire, football had to be something more than a game, a sport.

But you already knew that.

On gameday, I was woken up by a pounding on my door only to have upperclassmen stroll in and give my roommates and I each a good-morning-it's-gameday-get-out-of-bed-and-start-drinking beer. A mere half hour later, the guys that used to live in the room dropped by with 24 of their closest friends named Budweiser. (Side note: I am, sadly, not living there anymore.) To have hallmates - old and new - pass out free beer, football had to be something more than a game, a sport.

But you already knew that.

One day, I had class in the Loftus Center (the indoor practice facility in the Gug for those unfamiliar), a trek from my room on an early Tuesday morning. What greets me as I walk through the tall wooden doors? Just a crystal ball and seven bronze stiff-arm looking statues. And there was every positional trophy you could think of. Outland? Check. Camp? Check. Maxwell? Check. Biletnikoff? Check. To have your storied tradition out in the open to normal students, football had to be something more than a game, a sport.

But you already knew that.

I will do my best to keep you informed and updated from campus even while her loyal sons are marching onward to get more beer.

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