Last Home Game

my last home game as a senior at Notre Dame has just end­ed. right now i am sob­bing my eyes out. no longer will i be able to expe­ri­ence the uni­ty and spir­it of the stu­dent sec­tion at a home game as a mem­ber of the stu­dent body. as much as i have hat­ed it here, see­ing my friend PJ cry­ing after the alma mater was played struck a chord deep with­in me. it hurts. oh god, it hurts. sit­ting next to PJ who was a mem­ber of my sec­tion fresh­man year, and cry­ing with him remind­ed me of each year of my time here and the mem­o­ries asso­ci­at­ed with it. Fresh­man year my seats were in the end­zone and i paint­ed my entire body for every game. sopho­more year was sim­i­lar except that my seats moved a lit­tle far­ther down­field. junior year i learned a lit­tle safe­ty and start­ed wear­ing actu­al clothes to the cold­er games. and this year, my senior year has exceed­ed all expec­ta­tion. i nev­er expect­ed to be 10–1. i nev­er planned that my last home game as a stu­dent would be against the same team that my first Notre Dame game was against: Rut­gers. both games were shutouts and both con­tain their own spe­cial aura. this is the first great end­ing in my life as a senior. when i called my moth­er she did­n’t actu­al­ly think i was cry­ing. she did­n’t real­ly under­stand, which is ok. next, i called my uncle Corbin, who took me to my first home game. he under­stood. it is incred­i­bly hard to not have any feel­ings for a team and a stu­dent body that you have rejoiced and sobbed with through vic­to­ry and defeat for 4 years. oh god, i want my team to do so well, and i want to help them in any way i can. my heart is on the field with them every time they play. i might not under­stand the intri­ca­cies of foot­ball but dammit i know what it feels like to want to win with all your pow­er. its so won­der­ful and so hor­ri­ble. at least i rec­og­nize the impor­tance of this day, but it hurts so much to know it will nev­er hap­pen again, in this same way. i remem­ber my sopho­more year and our game against #1 Nebras­ka. we took those moth­er­fuck­ers to over­time despite their sea of red. my fresh­man year, beat­ing Michi­gan at Michi­gan, and rub­bing salt into the wounds of those unsports­man­like bas­tards. the deba­cle of the Fies­ta Bowl and Bob Davie and his whin­ing. our los­ing sea­son my junior year. and then, this year, not over yet, but glo­ri­ous all the same. an 8–0 start with a new coach Tyrone, who is noth­ing but busi­ness and respect, who rec­og­nizes and desires our par­tic­i­pa­tion and demands in the most impor­tant ways, excel­lence from my team: Notre Dame. This year has taught me what it means to be a Notre Dame fan. what it means to love a team, and scream until you lose your voice for vic­to­ry. when each half fights for the oth­er vic­to­ry is almost assured. my tears have dried up a bit. but i hope the mem­o­ries nev­er will. this cry­ing sad­ness is a good one, i have loy­al­ty, respect, and dri­ve for my fel­low stu­dents, and i love the ways in which we show our own dri­ves for excel­lence.