In the hallowed dark of the Clarke Memorial Fountain, Notre Dame head football coach Brian Kelly stood and puffed on his cigar and looked at the time on his iPhone. The campus was cloaked in the short stillness of the early morning, the few moments when those late to bed have arrived and those early to rise are still asleep. In the chill, Kelly inhaled the curling smoke and wondered where his boss was. Kelly began walking.
Jack Swarbrick, on the other side of the fountain, wondered where Brian Kelly was. He peered through the gaps and glimpses, knowing he could smell the smoke. “Brian?”
“Jack?”
“Brian, stay where you are.”
Kelly walked to Swarbrick’s voice and reached out his hand as he neared him.
Swarbrick shook it and sat on the cold stone. The burbling sounds of the water filled the space between them.
“I admire them every year, Brian. Win or lose, I really admire them.”
Kelly smiled, shook his head and looked at his feet. “Not in 2010, Jack. You had some terrible, terrible things to say about them.”
Swarbrick smiled back. “I know. You know, Brian, I’ve often wondered if any of those young men went on to graduate and then died in Iraq or Afghanistan and if their game against us meant anything.”
Kelly thought about that for a moment. “I wonder how many of our students think about football, Jack, in the moments before they die.”
“I don’t mean to equate our game with something life-changing, Brian, I’m merely curious as to how many of the kids we played at Navy or Army or Air Force have gone on to make the ultimate sacrifice.”
Kelly was silent. After some time, he spoke, deliberately changing the topic. “I think we’ve got a good shot at running the table, Jack.”
Swarbrick, his eyes closed, nodded. “I do, too. If we stay healthy, I like our chances. I don’t think it’s going to happen, not without some surprises, but we need to be…”
Kelly interrupted him. “Top eight. I know.”
“No. Top fourteen, Brian.”
Kelly smiled. “We’re going to pull a ‘Cheerio’s Bowl’ again, Jack?”
Swarbrick put his hand on Kelly’s knee. “We have to Brian.” He squeezed down and shook Kelly’s knee for effect. “We have to. We have to play, and beat, an SEC team, in my ideal world.”
“Wouldn’t be nice, and a real step, just to get in and win?”
“It would, sure. Dammit, Brian, we’re so close. Can you imagine this season, if we had Gols…”
Kelly interrupted him. “No. You can’t imagine that, Jack. He’s not here and we play the cards we’re dealt.”
Swarbrick smiled. The two were silent for some time, Kelly ashing his cigar into the water behind them.
In the end, it was Swarbrick who stood up. “Go get some rest, Brian. We can only play the cards we have. You’re right. This place, these stones, should remind us of that.”
With that, Swarbrick walked past Kelly and into the blue-black dark of the November night.
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Mark (@stogiesnbeer)
I just want to come around every couple of weeks or so and remind you that these are brilliant, please keep it up!