That Championship Coach

Coach Holtz remains to this day one of the finest speakers I have ever had the pleasure to hear in person. He injects inspiration and truth into his audience through a needle of humor and humility like nobody else.

My Senior Year of high school, Lou was the keynote speaker at an academic award ceremony where I was among those being honored. During his speech, he singled out me and my accomplishments as an example of what makes a person successful. It was an honor. As the event was winding down and people headed towards the exits, Coach Holtz tapped me on the shoulder and congratulated me on all my successes, and encouraged me to walk on the next year for the football team. Starstruck, I could only stammer, "Yes sir, thank you coach!"

Of course, I did not walk-on that next year, choosing to elevate my academic pursuits (and my desire to maintain my scholarship) over any glories of the gridiron. But a small part of me wonders, "What if?" The regret is especially acute when I read a transcript of one of Lou's team speeches, like that reproduced below. It's unfortunate that Coach Holtz is the subject of so much derision for his lisp or his eccentricities as Mark May's foil on television--it trivializes him as a sort of cartoon character. For me, Lou will always embody the football coach that I wanted to play for, and that if I ever got the chance, I would emulate should I ever be fortunate enough to coach myself.

Transcript of an ND football team meeting (Spring 1988)

Three weeks ago when I set up this meeting, I knew we would have a lot to talk about, and I have really looked forward to this meeting.

First of all, I want to congratulate you on your success in the winter program in the weight room. The things I hear about you are outstanding, and when I have been there I have been impressed. Unfortunately, not everyone falls into this category. However, the overwhelming majority of you do, and for that I congratulate you on your commitment to greatness.

Two days ago I talked to Marion Campbell of the Atlanta Falcons. Coach Fazio went down and visited with them yesterday. Today he called me and said he is going to accept a job with the Atlanta Falcons. He will get a substantial raise. I hate to see him go. He is an outstanding coach and a fine, fine individual. Joe Yonto will leave to take a position in the Athletic Department. He will be working with Dick Rosenthal. He had a choice whether he wished to go into administration or remain in coaching. He decided to accept the position in administration. The defensive coordinator, in all probability, will be Barry Alvarez. He has coached inside linebackers previously, and I think will be a fine coordinator. I promise you I/we will strengthen our staff. A year ago at this time Mike Stock left to go to the Bengals, and Kurt Schottenheimer went with the Cleveland Browns. We strengthened our staff when we brought in what I think is an outstanding football coach in Jim Strong. That sucker is a winner - make no mistake about it. Then we went out and hired Barry Alvarez, who is also an outstanding coach. Rest assured, we will hire the best coaches in America, and we’ll hire them rapidly.
It’s going to be revealed today that Notre Dame had the best recruiting year in the country by far. I say that is nonsense. We have some fine athletes coming in despite the fact that we had only 23 scholarships to offer. Everybody else signs 30, redshirts their entire freshman class, and then drop 55 out of their football program. At Notre Dame we can sign approximately 24 a year.

On paper we had a good year. However, I want to tell you this - we were not successful in the state of Ohio and Western Pennsylvania. The best football player in the state of Ohio belonged here at Notre Dame. I’ve never seen a guy who belonged at Notre Dame more than he did. He writes me a letter: “Dear Coach, this is a very difficult letter to write. How does one say ‘no’ to Notre Dame? Notre Dame is a great university - high academics, high standards, outstanding football program. Everything is right. At least I thought so until I visited. I did not feel comfortable around the athletes. I’m not sure the total commitment to excellence is there.” He goes on to say some other things which aren’t relevant.
If we lose to Penn State in recruiting, you lose. The entire university loses. There isn’t any reason for this university to ever lose a prospect to Penn State, Ohio State, Michigan, Pittsburgh or any other school. When we get them on this campus, there’s no way in this world they should do anything but be impressed with the athletes we have here.
There are gonna be some changes, but I can assure you they are going to be positive changes. I want you to pay attention to this - we are going to practice strict loyalty to one another. We are going to be loyal to the University of Notre Dame, the administration, coaches and teammates. We are not going to make a negative comment about anybody on this football team, unless it is said in my office. We are not going to criticize another player.

If I hear a guy make a negative comment during a football game on the sideline, you’re going to the locker room. We can not be a close knit football team without showing respect and concern for each other. This loyalty will extend to the coaches as well. You aren’t going to bitch about them; you aren’t going to moan about them; you aren’t going to talk about them among yourselves.

By the same token, the coaches aren’t going to say a negative thing about you. The coaches aren’t going to deride you, ridicule you, or question your courage. The coaches will show you how to be the best football players possible.

They will tell you what you are doing wrong and in what areas you need to improve. If you have a problem with someone, get it straight. Remember, if you can’t say something good about somebody, then don’t say anything. This is a good philosophy to practice the rest of your life.
I don’t know if any of you saw a TV program on an educational TV station, but the topic was, “Why do men die for their country?” They examined the Marines, French Foreign Legion and the British Commandos.
First conclusion they arrived at was that discipline is very important. Why do the military conduct their close order drill, although it carries no military significance whatsoever? Because it stresses discipline. No organization or team can function without discipline.

The second reason they examined was the history of the regiment. They talked about the great tradition of the regiment. They highlighted the success of the regiment, particularly those that were accomplished against overwhelming odds.

However, the most important reason why men died for their country was their love for their fellow man.

They interviewed a soldier who relayed a most revealing story. He was wounded in combat and was convalescing in the hospital when he discovered that his fellow soldiers were going on a dangerous mission. He escaped from the hospital and went on the mission with them. Then while participating in the invasion, he was wounded once again.
When they interviewed him he said “You work with people and you live with them, and you soon realize that your survival depends upon one another.”

Whether it be a military battle or Notre Dame football, you can only enjoy success when we realize that we must be able to count on one another.

It is important that I express my thoughts about this university - which you may or may not agree with. This school was founded by Father Sorin in 1842. It was founded as a tribute to Our Lady on the Dome. I believe the overwhelming majority of our football team believes in Jesus Christ.
We may have some whose religious beliefs are such that they do not recognize Jesus Christ. That’s fine also. I don’t wish to change anybody’s religion or philosophy. This school was built as a tribute to the Blessed Virgin, the mother of Jesus Christ.

I firmly believe that if you really look at this school, you realize it has been blessed.

The people who attend this school are blessed. Father Sorin said it best in 1842, “I’ve raised Our Lady aloft so that men will know without asking, why we have succeeded here. All they have to do is look high on the Golden Dome and they’ll find the answer.”

When we do what is right, we bring glory and honor to Notre Dame. When we win in football, we help this university. To reach your potential, you must learn to love this university. Put your faith, confidence and belief in Jesus. That is what this university is all about. It’s your decision, but I firmly believe that Our Lady on the Dome will watch out for you.

Spend some time at the Grotto, and you’ll discover that this school is special. There is a special mystique about it. You are special for being here, a student at Notre Dame.

There will be no drinking during the season. We had this rule last year. There may have been violations, but rest assured that if they occur this year, we will find out. Our coaches will frequent the favorite hangouts. If you can’t control yourself or exercise self-discipline, you aren’t going to be successful anyway.

You told me you want to win, and I believe you. The seniors have provided great leadership thus far. I watched you work out and saw a lot of positive things.

To get the maximum benefit from our winter program, we must eat breakfast. To ensure this happens, we will eat breakfast between 7:00 am and 9:15 am. Everybody will eat breakfast. It will be checked. You may eat in South Dining Hall or the North Dining Hall.

Concerning the length of our practices - I checked with Ara Parseghian and many other coaches who have enjoyed success. One thing they all had in common was that they practiced 2 1/2 hours and met 1 1/2 hours a day.
This was a typical day for Notre Dame when Ara Parseghian coached; at 3:30 pm they were on the field. They practiced until 6:00 pm. They arrived at the training table at 6:30 pm. At 7:30 pm they had a 1 1/2 hour meeting every day. This meant they spent approximately four hours on football daily.

Most schools, including Arkansas, Michigan and most of our opponents meet during lunch. After lunch they would go to class. At 2:30 pm we would meet for an hour. We would practice from 3:30 to 6:00 pm. At 6:30 we would eat and meet once again from 7:30 to 8:30 pm. At 8:30 pm we would have study hall until 10:30 pm.

In fairness to you, we do not meet at night so you can fulfill your primary purpose for attending college and that is to get an education. However, the amount of practice time we need is 2 1/2 hours, including kicking game. We must meet an additional one hour a day.

Some people have complained we practice too long. There is no other way to be successful. Your social life must be non-existent during the season.

In addition, our practices must be more productive and our retention greater. We cannot waste any time on the field, and we must insist upon improvement. I don’t believe we made the improvement as a football team last year that we have to make.

We need to improve the courtesy we extend to people. I think it is beneficial to look people in the eye and give them a firm handshake. Use the words “Yes, sir - no, sir - yes, ma’am, no ma’am.” I don’t know if anything is more important to our success than self-discipline.

We have scientists that can go into space and scientists that can go to the depth of the ocean. It’s ironic that we can conquer space, we can conquer the ocean, but many times we cannot conquer ourselves. Until we learn self-discipline we cannot control our own destiny. Self discipline is the greatest asset an individual can possess. I think perseverance will be an important part of our success this year.

We must overcome all adversity. The only reason for a person to exist is to be the best they can be. If you don’t have any desire to be the best that you can be in every single phase of your life, you need to check your values. This attitude will develop perseverance. You shouldn’t do the things that simply give you physical pleasure. When you do things for the sole enjoyment of self-satisfaction, you’ll forget about it in two days and want to do it all over again.

There are millions of people that live and die with Notre Dame football.
There are an awful lot of Catholics and non-Catholics, Irishmen and non-Irishmen, successful and less-fortunate people that follow the University of Notre Dame - and you should feel a sense of obligation to them. They follow Notre Dame football because it is synonymous with success.

I really look forward to this season and working with you. We are going to be positive, and we are going to have fun in what we do.
I want you to pay very close attention to what I am going to say, because I don’t want any misunderstandings about how I feel. I’m here to win football games for the University of Notre Dame. Not some of our games, and not most of our games; I’m here to win ALL of our games. Every doggone one of them!

We aren’t here to come close. We are here to win every single football game we ever play at the University of Notre Dame from this point forward.

I want you to be the best, the very best, in all areas of your life. I want you to be the best student that you can be; I want you to be the best person you can be; and I want you to be the best football player you can be.

The only reason a person should exist is to be the best he can.
To play at Notre Dame is to seek perfection. I’m basically a perfectionist. I’ve heard all the reasons why you can’t reach perfection. I want to tell you something.

We are either going to reach it, or we’re going to come so close that the average person won’t know the difference.

To strive for perfection means you’ve got to be totally dedicated. It can’t be an occasional thing - it’s got to be a total dedication in everything that you do. If you don’t have total dedication to perfection in your life, then I believe your attitude toward life is flawed.
Perfection at Notre Dame will not only be demanded, it will be expected. I don’t ever expect to lose another football game as long as I’m at Notre Dame, and I sure don’t expect to lose one this year.

I expect to see a perfect football team, because that’s going to be the criteria to evaluate it. A loss is absolutely disastrous. You cannot give me one reason in this world why we should ever lose a football game at Notre Dame - not a one! There is no reason.

Now you can tell me the schedule. There is no reason we should ever lose another football game at Notre Dame, and we aren’t going to. Less than perfection is a personal embarrassment to me, to you and to this university.

For us to ever represent the University of Notre Dame with less than perfection is totally inconsistent with our goals, our objectives and our beliefs.

Congratulations once again on the fine start you have made in the winter program. This is our first step toward perfection

Planning an ND Game Weekend: Donkey Style

If we knew nothing else about the particulars for getting together for an ND home football game weekend, and had to guess on a schedule, it would go something like this:

Friday
4:00pm--Tony explains to his new boss that he has a dentist's appointment and bolts through the backdoors of P&G and into his car, where his packed duffle-bag awaits. He pulls around the block to find Kevin Shannon waiting patiently, smoking a pack of cigs and popping back pills in anticipation of the 4 hour drive from Dayton to South Bend.
8:00pm--Diebold's taxi service arrives at the Michiana Regional Transportation Supercomplex to pick up Big Gay Joey, who is tired from wrestling with an air marshall who wouldn't let him physically remove the lady with the good window seat as the plane flew overhead of Notre Dame's campus.
8:30pm--Kevin, Tony, and Joey store their bags at Mama L's, then call Steph and sweetly offer to let her drive them over to CJ's Pub.
10:00pm--around the fourth pitcher, Spider arrives. When asked about the whereabouts of his bag, he explains that he threw it over the fence in the back before he came in, and he'd be right back after retrieving it and apologizing to the old lady he hit in the head on the toss.
12:30pm--Kevin wants to start chest-bumping the off-duty SBPD and former ND players in the bar. Decide to leave CJ's while our sobriety and safety are secure. Hadji the cabdriver drops us back in Mishiwaker.

Saturday:
7:00am--Joey looks up at his alarm clock and shuts it off.
8:00am--no one has moved yet. Spider farts loud enough to wake the dead.
9:00am--Showers kick on, and the smell of eggs and bacon floats through the house. Soon all are decked out in ND gear and upstairs eating. The first bottled beer is cracked at 9:50am--a new late morning record for a football Saturday at this old age.
10:00am--Papa L is good enough to give Kevin a ride to Stephs, and the rest to the tailgating parking lots.
11:00am--we hang with some old O'Neill guys, drink some Busch Light, meet up with Bo and Rhiana, make him shotgun a beer for being late (and gay), do a quick walk onto campus for some brats, wonder at all the construction, wonder at all the students tailgating like champions, hit the JACC for the john.
12:00pm--See Rob Roy--do a shotgun of Natty Light for old-time's sake. Dribble copious amounts of beer all over the place and look for towels. Spider gets carded by the NDPD. More peeing at the JACC.
1:00pm--moved onto really good tailgate beer--Mickey's and Shiner Bock. Shots of Jamison before gametime.
1:45pm--Blessed are these late games. We grab two full ones and walk towards the gates.
2:00pm--6:00pm--watch ND stomp on (fill in the blank). Depending on the hot weather, stay until the end and sing the alma mater.
6:30pm--Rhiana offers to drive everyone home--nobody disagrees.
7:00pm--Let's go swimming!
7:30pm--Bo and Rhiana talk to Mama and Papa L about their new baby and life in the South. Tony gets a quick shirt on the face nap. Joey and Spider drink the good beer and hottub to get clean.
8:00pm--the Saturday night game plays on CBS while the group chows on chicken fingers and corn on the cob.
9:00pm--Mama Leniski drops us at Steph's. A few quick rounds of a$$hole and we're back out the door after Spider starts screaming, "Let's GO!"
10:30pm--Holding down the fort at Corby's. Really freakin' crowded, so we bolt for Club 23. Remember that Club is no longer around. Decide to buy a case of beer and drop it with the guys currently living at the Drunken Donkey. Tell them that they will never be as cool as us.
12:00am--finally get into the Backer. True to form, Bo drops his credit card at the bar. LITs! Grime! Sweat! Bon Jovi! WEEEEEE!
2:00am--pop out the door. No Kevin, no Steph, they left awhile ago. Joey, Tony, Bo, and Rhiana get back to Mishawaka somehow.

Sunday: rest, recoup, recline, catch flights/car rides home. Look forward to the next time.

"H"O'Neill

Victims of capitol improvement. Refugees from development. These are the tales of the Angry Mob, castaways from the Grace Hall mothership on stately Mod Quad, who landed in the hinterlands adjacent to the campus golf course in a manor dubbed O'Neill Hall.

The following is a chronology from the earliest annals of O'Neill Hall history, starting with its very inception. They are immortalized here in summary, bullet-point form, purely for preservation's sake.

-Founded circa 1996.
-Golf Quad/West Quad name fight, built on old golf course nine but school wanted to call it "West Quad"
-Angry Mob--residents angry at having to leave the mothership of Grace Hall, a multi-story highrise full of limitless debauchery.
-“Shockers” 2nd choice for hall mascot.
-Namesake for Joe O'Neill, close personal friend of GWB and husband of Charles Schwab's sister. Mr. Schwab joined us in the courtyard for our inaugural panoranmic photo, which was famous for JP Jaillet's "Napoleon" pose, Melvin Pena's highwater waders, and an unnamed underclassman who ran from one side of the photo to the other and thus appears twice.
- Angry continued to personify that halcyon first year: the SYR was renamed the DSYR--Danza (official cover was “December SYR”) Slap Your Roomate. The Mardi Gras dance was replete with 1 King Float, 2 chariots, one with anatomically correct vixens to which Rector Father Mark Ghyslink famously remarked, "I think that's enough detail,” and a tractor-pulled farm wagon compete with couches (one liberated from Grace Hall).
-Spider dragging a large duffle bag w/toilet stolen from Grace Hall across campus and getting stopped by security, and adding it to one of the floats as “the King’s Throne.” Also, the custom at MG was to get really drunk, go from dorm to dorm picking up dates (whilst sending in sentries to run through the halls screaming, "O'Neill is here!") and the obligatory moment of silence outside of Grace Hall, the birthplace of the Mob.
-Famous for the pre-Mardi Gras King's Feast, whereby the Mob would take over the highriser tables at SDH.
-We had air-conditioning, making it a prime hangout for the school year bookends.
-The infamous "King of Mardi Gras" contest. 6 fools would pre-party together and get wasted enough to come out before their peers and do hopelessly stupid shit. "Would you like to come to my room for some cake--I mean sex?" The Phantom Menace play. Spider tossing fruit at the window. The super-messy 2-liter bottle contest (with no discernible point whatsoever). Bubba ate gold fish one year. Heiple dressed as Rector Tom Cummings.
-Chelsea Clinton/Stanford pep-rally we co-sponsored, with the t-shirts with the big "O'" and cigar, "Victory...It Tastes Good." -- Reference to Starr Report published days before.
-Freshman puking out of the window of quad on 4th floor onto an amorous couple hooking up on roof of chapel.
-The Drinking Wall out back--shut down by AR Tom.
-The Smokers all living on 1st floor.
-"There's Beer in the bathrooms, there's beer in the rooms, there's even beer taped to the wall." and the fire alarm that shut down the first big party of the year.
-Freshman DisOrientation---"finish this bottle of Everclear."
-Errant lacross balls that fly across the courtyard and straight into your nuts
-Stacking shit in front of JP's door when we stumble in at night
-Freshman required to provide donuts for upperclassmen every football Saturday.
-The tunnels from McGlinn and calling our RA from the top floor of Grace Hall
-"You're not ready!" and "Keep the dream alive!"
-Each section sneaking in 12 cases of beer apiece for the largest Dorm party ever
-40s at Four and the Friday Soundtrack. Mickey's, Colt 45 (double malt w/wide brim), Schlitz
- Convenience food store named “Spanky’s” established on first floor. Hand painted sign features a monkey holding a very large banana.
- Voice mail to land line phones was the preferred form of communication from the hall staff to the residents. The only messages residents ever actually got on voicemail were from hall staff.
- President's "Private Quarters,"
ketchup incident
-"We Want Some Pussy" chant
-Puke in the urinals every weekend. In fact there wasn't a weekend that went by without puke in bathroom in 3b.
- The 3b Nook: they hung blankets in section lounge to wall it off. In fact, a lot of shit went down in those section lounges, that could be a "section" for your archives. From the Taxman incident to Mariokart, many 40's and drinks snuck out there. I remember soph year in 4B walking into the lounge and seeing a bunch of dudes with their nutsacks hanging out and Smeeeth losing his shit cause they were fucking with him.
- Desplinter lit a tree on fire at Mardi Gras. Melvin: "Bring us your young sngle women yearning to breed!" Gaffney won the King contest mostly due to Thong and skates. Who was the other guy that went as a condom?
- The blackout, cop cars driving thru students.
- Random people in the dorm--think who we hung out with, it's so weird. Remember the two basketball players, think one was from Ghana? Griese was an Olineman, a couple dudes were fighter pilots, the hockey player that was hooking up with Barbie, the KGB dude that would fuck with Smith. The Spanish speaking dude with long blond hair. Fonseca on the swim team. Bishop and Spock. There's so many stories.
- Spider ran around and stole all the flags off the Golf Course one foggy night with Smith ("What's Russian for gay? Smeeeth!")
- Alex almost died in a construction site fooling around in the tunnels.
- Billick and his hijinks (and winner of the Golden Pig).
- The Quake Lab! All sorts of video games, from COnway and RC ProAm to beating people with my toes at Mariokart SNES, beating people after a 64 oz playing N64. How about Schaeffer yelling about the whales in Civ3?
- Who locked JP out of his room the night before Christmas Break? He comes home at 5am with a half hour to pack, change, and go to the airport, and there's a pile of all the furniture from the section lounge in front of his room. There a prank war between him and Tim Johnson. Timmy, with his Roxanne drinking game and bizarre workouts and Lewis girls.
- Bachelor of the Month.
- The girls at McGlinn. How long could we go on about that? I was just thinking about Tony's observations regarding volume and dancing. We were at McGlinns the day after Margaritaville with shitloads of Mix on our hands, so went over there, and some girls are dancing, and fighting about music volume cause it's a Sunday night. One girl turns it down, and everyone dances less, than Tony goes and turns it back up, and people dance bigger. Tony marvels, turning music up and down and watching girls dance big and small.
- Me Tony and Billick stealing a Grace Couch and walking back to Oneill with it, no one stops us. When me and Tony stole the toilet, a security guard suddenly exited B.P., not 30 feet away from us, stopped, looked at us and said, "You got a body in there?" He smiled and walked away.
- Spider hiding his clothes above the ceiling tiles over the summers.
- The movies people had on. Saw Swingers for the first time. Rudy too. Star Wars over and over. Don't know how many times I saw Goodwill Hunting trying to pull a chick.
- Parietals.
- Community service.
- The ketchup incident. Sneaking the audio tape of Tom Cummings. I wonder if Bishop still has the edited version?
- 40's at Four and the dining hall. The pep rallies were great our Freshman year, with Holtz and everything.
- Tons of girl stories. Tons. Where in the dorm did we not hook up, be it the bathrooms, mailrooms, laundryrooms, weightrooms, food sales, lounges, roofs and basement. Only place might be the rector's office.
- The golf course drinking game, a different drink in every room. Hurricanes at Gaffneys room.
- The clucky chicken limbo thing I stunk in the ceiling above the A.R.'s door. All sorts of crap we would put in front of Ghyslink's door--we even took his name plate off and switched it with the one that said, "Housekeeping," then mailed him a ransom note from letters cut out of a magazine. That sign still exists somewhere.

The Legend of K Shannon

As displayed on the NDNation boards a full six years after we graduated.

When asked for a quote regarding his infamy, especially regarding his prodigious keg stand times, Kev replied "Oh I killed... I have been in the triple digits a couple of times. Damn I was good!"

But in typical K Shannon style, he summed up the bleating thusly: "Actually, I am pretty pissed these bums are using up my 15 minutes of fame on some no good message board."

So Congrats, Kev. You should head up to ND this weekend and go around campus introducing yourself to all the girls. You'd be like Justin Bieber with all the groupies.

But a "good guy" in college? Apparently, the person who said that didn't ever get a beer dumped on his/her head. Or catch a can of brewski to the side of the head during an impromptu game of "beer football" during finals week when K. Shannon winged a beer at Tony, who of course didn't catch it. Ah those were the days.

> > Could someone explain the rules to Cups?
> >by tenn_subway (04/18/2006 16:01:52)
> >Edited on 04/18/2006 16:01:52
> >---------------------------------
> > [ cannot delete post ] [ Edit Post ] [ Return to Board ] [ Ignore
> >Poster ] [ Highlight Poster ] [ Reply to Post ]
> >
> > I hear it mentioned here all the time and I've never played it.
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > "Full cup challenge" (a.k.a the K. Shannon rule)
> >by cherith cutestory on 04/18/2006 16:23:32 Edit Post | Delete Post
> > | Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post This is often
> >issued after one team is getting absolutely buried in points, or a Cups
> >participant has had their honor impugned in some way.
> >
> >Consists of either an individual full cup one-on-one, or the entire
>losing
> >team can get in on the action as a way to gain alot of points back at
>once.
> >
> >I've never seen one of these end without somebody puking in the yard.
>Damn
> >those Wisconsin boys.
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > I think I know this K Shannon you speak of
> >by HTownND on 04/18/2006 16:33:25 Edit Post | Delete Post |
> >Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post Who guzzles Guiness
> >like no other
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > wow, the guy's a legend apparently
> >by oneill3b on 04/18/2006 17:00:17 (04/18/2006 17:00:17) Edit Post |
> >Delete Post | Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post all
> >my older friends from O'Neill made frequent references to him.
> >
> >I believe I remember one particular story about him leaving a dog to crap
> >all over a dorm room.
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > Close....
> >by cherith cutestory on 04/18/2006 17:03:34 Edit Post | Delete Post
> > | Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post That was a
> >sophomore (monikered "the Taxman" his freshman year), who got suckered
>into
> >taking 5-6 shots of Everclear by K Shannon's older brother and a guy
>named
> >English, both O'Neill Hall legends in their own right.
> >
> >Said sophomore proceeded to pass-out and sh*t himself in the section
> >lounge, and had to be showered off by the two legends before the rector
> >caught a "whiff" of what was going on.
> >
> >Good stuff.
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > Yep--he's still got it too
> >by cherith cutestory on 04/18/2006 16:38:35 Edit Post | Delete Post
> > | Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post I can testify to
> >his abilities during St. Patty's Day. But he'll be tested again at the
> >Derby very soon. I think it's starting to catch up with the lad.
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > I think many people do *
> >by Final_Flanner on 04/18/2006 16:36:19 Edit Post | Delete Post |
> > Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > (cough) (cough)
> >by IrishPolo on 04/18/2006 16:35:51 Edit Post | Delete Post |
> >Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post Mantits and I would
> >beg to differ.
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > Seriously
> >by HTownND on 04/18/2006 16:37:04 Edit Post | Delete Post |
> >Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post It's a sight to
> >behold, I've never seen anything like it.
> >
> >This guy slams a Guiness in one gulp, a truly amazing display.
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > The lad is Irish--what did you expect?
> >by cherith cutestory on 04/18/2006 16:40:41 Edit Post | Delete Post
> > | Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post It is funny
> >watching him try to recover, now that he is older and about 30 pounds
> >heavier.
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > As do I...
> >by Notre_Dane on 04/18/2006 16:35:22 Edit Post | Delete Post |
> >Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post K.Shannon from
> >O'Neill, no?
> >
> >
> >
> >---------------------------------
> > Yep, me too.
> >by DomerJD on 04/18/2006 16:38:16 Edit Post | Delete Post |
> >Return to Board | Ignore Poster | Reply to Post I think one of my
> >friends went out with him a few times. Good guy.

T-Bone's Top 10 Post-Graduation Football Weekend Moments

Drum roll please....

One fine morning in Iraq, Tony shared his memories of football game antics via email, since he couldn't join the DD to discuss such things over porch, lawn, road or actually inside a bar:

10. Joey “Magellan” Leniski and Bo “Lewis and Clark” Plummer get lost trying to find the illusive South Shore train station in Michigan City .

9. Spidey and I sitting on the 50 Yard line two rows up for the Michigan game in 2004. How the hell did we ever pull that off?

8. Tommy Zibikowski’s brazen leap over the 8 foot fence at the new, hip CJ’s after a draining loss to Michigan State in 2005. I hate Michigan State . (Ah, Michigan State; I seem to remember another whole story set for this topic, one that involves Joey, Kevin and the consumption of more alcohol than should be physically possible one fine day in East Lansing).

7. Midway Airport . From yelling “WEEEE” at Spidey to near fights in gas stations just outside, this place is an ND weekend classic. It is the counterbalance to everything of beauty, wonder at awe that is ND. Naturally Midway includes the road trip to South Bend. "Humm Joey, should we drink Seven and Seven, Jack and Coke or 40s?" Answer. "Let's get all three. It's not like we're not going to drink two handles and some forties this weekend."

6. Spider’s “false bottom” cargo shorts, really the red hair "Muppet" wig hat stuffed on top of two beers; a very clever method for smuggling beer into the Stadium. Mothers pull thier children close when they see Spidey in his wig.

5. El Diablo on the lawn of the Donkey. El Diablo returns to Tony just outside Joey’s basement door. May May asks if I’m okay the next morning. (This is not as good as the infamous “shhhhhhhhh shhhhhhhh” “Joey honey, the door’s unlocked” episode, but it’s good.)

4. Confusion. My pockets are full of beer, the sun is shining, and the air is full with the aroma of burned bratwurst and crushed, muddied grass. The only problem is, well, where the heck is everyone? What is this “White Field” thing? Why won’t Joey answer his phone? What happened to Bo and Herbie?

3. Marybeth at Bellmont “RAGE” still remembers me and the entire Donkey’s 99 Keg record when we stop in to buy "walking around" beer.

2. Kevin. No one does ND like Kevin. Game day at Coach’s (Bookmakers) + Kevin + Beer (served in pitchers) + a room full of people he doesn’t know = “Guy’s I’m not gonna make it out tonight.”

1. Looking at the pictures a couple of days after a night at the Linebacker. Bo has like 5 LITs in his hands, and one on his shirt. Joey is doing shots. Kevin, is outside somewhere. I've definately got beer googles. No one seems to be aware that we are all packed into a dumpy bar, with lots of really sweaty people. Later at least two of us will get Gay Signed. We all LOVE it.

Senior Week 2000

Apropos of a discussion that took place during Reunion 2010 (more on that later), here are our best fuzzy recollections of what took place during our Senior Week, 2000. In no particular order:

1. Party at College Park w/bands.

Rob and Cope had their two man team intra-house keg drinking competition underway. They brought their own kegs on red wagons. Tony and Joey have a great picture from this day, and there is video evidence of real bad Pearl Jam covers and serious drunken balcony conversations which ensued.

2. Toga Party at Washington Street.

Did this occur senior week? I don't know, but it makes sense. We did well enough at cups, and brought extra clothes with us so we could go out later.

3. $2 cover night at Heartland.

God knows what happened here.

4. Chicago trip, burgers, and Cubs game.

We all brought booze into the stadium, Kev drank his really fast. The Dodgers came into the stands and started fighting with the Cubs fans. Didn't Billick hook up with Kev's blonde prudish friend with name Lauren? Maria and the Trio came with us. Joey got food poisoning from some undercooked Wrigleyville burgers. Bo drove the van, and very drunk Tony on the way home kept making fun of Maria. She got mad at and told him to pass out. Tony did no such thing.

5. Senior Formal @ Century Center.

Drunk. Andy, Tony's brother, and the rest of the Trio went with us. We pre-partied at the Donkey.

6. Guys take pictures around campus (w/First down Moses, etc.)

Again, based largely on photographic evidence. I don't know that there was a sober moment in all of Senior Week.

7. At least one Drunken Donkey party.

Its also probably safe to assume that during at least one of these "parties" we played A-hole and/or I Never at the bar, watched some of The Rock and the Matrix and probably there was at least one fight of the following variety: Mere vs Nikki, Maria vs Tony, Kevin vs ?? There were fire burgers. There was also a condom stuck to the side of the house. Bo's Dad noticed it, but the mothers didn't.

8. Senior Party @ Covaleski Stadium.

We went to a minor league ball game on Tuesday night. Chihuahua races at the Silverhawks game, standing in the beer garden on the first base side. I don't remember much detail, probably with good reason. Later on that week, say Saturday night, we were at a big party on the field. There were tents and a band.

9. Random Washington Street Party

We seem to remember another afternoon party somewhere vicinity of Washington Street. At this glorious event, we got a ride home with Rob and Cope. Everyone was drunk. They chose drivers based on who lost a beer chugging contest. Safe huh?

10. The Trio Bears

Gifted by the legendary trio, who stayed on our couches for some of the week. They did a good job cleaning too, I recall the top of the fridge being caked with a BLACK SLUDGE. God bless them. They probably remember more from our Senior Week than theirs.

11. Graduation Day.

Champagne in the parking lot, and lots and lots of memories left behind the threshold of the JACC.

Can we do this again? I really want a senior week!

(Quoting Kevin):

I seriously barely recall a damn thing from the entire week... other than the dodgers fighting the fans. That was funny shit. I actually think I stayed pretty low key for most of the week. Again, could be completely false and my unconscious attempt at painting a rosy picture of the entire event. I am sure I got roped into some of Amy's shit that week too.

(Quoting Spider--WARNING: Stream of consciousness commencing):

There is a great videotape somewhere that really needs to get transfered to DVD. It has a shirtless marine waving a weather wildly screaming, "YEEEAAAAHHHH!!!!" over and over for 10 minutes. This guy supposedly was such a badass that he got jumped while walking from Backer to St. Pete's by three black guys and fought them off. I remember he said he beat one up, the took another one of em down and bashed their head repeatedly on the sidewalk. The third guy saw this and ran away.

This is a huge digression from Senior Week story, but it's interesting and has celebrities, so it's worth writing about. I went to see a preview screening a month ago of David Mamet's new movie, Red Belt, which was a pretty good fight movie. He was there, and did an interview with this dude, and then had a Q and A session. I remember when James Earl Jones came to speak at Notre Dame. There was a Q and A session and told a story. A guy's in a bar just minding his business, and this asshole comes up and picks a fight with him. The asshole doesn't realize what he's in for dude is tough. The asshole who picks the fight has a friend, who comes at the tough dude next, only to hit the ground right next to his friend. A bouncer approaches, but he doesn't far any better. A second bouncer runs into the room, stops suddenly when he sees the bodies on the floor, holds up his hands and says to the tough guy, "Sir, would you consider leaving?"

The guys across the street had a 2 day keg race. The videotape has some of it. There were three kegs, and three teams. Butternuts and Rob Roy, another team of three guys I sorta remember, and a third team that consisted of four members I don't remember at all. They were evenly matched. They would drink, sleep for four hours, and then Butters (what was his name again?) woke Rob up again demanding that he drink. When it got down to end of the keg race, everybody started doing keg stands, over and over. Butters would drink for 60 seconds, and ROb Roy would hold his legs up. Then they would switch, and Butternuts would hold Rob up, but he could only drink for 40 seconds. Butternuts would bitch at him about that. Other people would periodically jump in (the donkey), but these continual keg stand rotations went on for an hour. At one point the cops rolled up, did a woop woop. So Rob ran down to them, and said something to the effect of "Hey Officer, we're just drinking here. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Hey guys turn that music down!" The cop was impressed at the spectacle. Marine still pumping his feather, shirtless, on the lawn that had seen a thousand thunder dome pukes. While Rob was talking to the cop, Cope, that was his name, right? Cope started screaming at him. "You pussy! Get over here and drink! PUSSY!" So Rob starts walking away from the cop with a shrug of the shoulders, saying sorry to the cops, he had to go and drink. The cop said he understood.

There's also a lot of Bo wandering around drunk, I think he almost falls down the stairs while drunkenly mumbling something mildly racist. A lot of Joey laughing annoyingly, Heh heh heh, as a constantly mangled voiceover. I'm sure I did some ridiculously stupid things that I thought were somehow funny, but don't recall, having killed that part of my brain.

I remember some of that Chicago trip. I remember how I felt so nostalgic about the present, even though I was spending it with people I didn't really know. I remember the gambling thing we had going at the game. Everyone put in a dollar. At the end of every inning, the players run off the field after getting the third out. Whoever caught the ball for the third out would throw the ball towards the pitchers mound. Sometimes the ball would land in the grass, sometimes, it would land in the dirt of the mound. If it was your turn to bet, you would say mound, or grass. If you were right you would get everyones money, wrong and you paid them. It was really arbitrary, and it could get really expensive for college kids. We had twenty people there.

The minor league game was the Silverhawks. Dollar Day. Dollar dogs, dollar beers. What a fucking golden age of beer drinking we lived in. $1 Rum and Cokes at Heartland, no ice, no tip. Classy.

Too many circles of people at bars, swaying to a bad song. With people who's names I couldn't remember at the time, much less eight years later. Piano Man, Oh what a Night!

I remember distinctly running around Heartland with four rum and cokes in my hands, and dancing with Cerise to Alice Deejay, and she was mouthing the words, "Do you think you're better off alone?" And meaning it, a little too...dramatically?

How the hell did you guys forget Club? I don't know if we got any of those slushy drinks...we definitely did some carbombs. I remember playing lots of pool. I was worried that Bo and I would lose our last game of pool. I needn't have worried. We did Senior Bar too, wings and rum and cokes? Or did we? After Joey's... incident. Oh wait, I remember them playing "Around the World," by Daft Punk, and thinking what a long song it was.

The only thing I remember about the Senior Formal was trying to find a way to sneak in booze, and feeling like I had been drunk for a year.

There were multiple family events in the days leading up to graduation, but they all just seemed like ways to kill time before the big sendoff. There was a tent, I believe at Covaleski, and I think my family was there, and I was getting drunk, and everybody kept on running into me and hugging to say goodbye. I think Joey's family was there too, and my parents briefly met them. My old man still refers to them as "the huggy people."

Didn't we play cups in the parking lot? I don't remember much about graduation. I remember seeing Cerise's friend Andrea, who was completely wasted at the ceremony. Walking around in the drab hallways was surreal, everyone with their robes on, standing around, marveling at the moment, wondering why it was taking so long.

That's about all I remember. Was there a pigtostal in there, or was that earlier?

/END STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

Saturday: Part IV--The Voyage Home

[Author's Note: Finally, months after it was first begun, is the conclusion to the great journey that is the Ultimate Weekend at Notre Dame. This tome serves as a reminder that life is truly about the journey, not the destination. Enjoy. --JPL]

6:30 pm: Knocking….and muffled noises. Crack open one eye for a peek—who in the hell is interrupting my victory nap?!? More knocking and a bellowing voice, “Wake up boys!” Oh, Tony’s dad, here to take the family to dinner. Slowly crawl from the couch to the door, trying desperately not to anger the alcohol gods that would like nothing more than to split my head open with a catastrophic early evening hangover. D’oh! Too late. Put on a solid game face and open the door, “Hi folks!” Then retreat to the safety of the basement, resume the nap and possibly sneak in a much needed shower.

8:15 pm: Evidently there was much entertainment to be had while sleeping. Kevin’s older brother and fellow alum decided to kick start an early evening at the Donkey, but ended up babysitting Tony’s little brother and friend (who are all of 13), receiving explicit instructions to keep the young ones away from the remnants of a keg on the porch. Worst…idea….ever. Tony returns from Francesco’s with a somewhat agitated Kevin (who evidently received numerous barbs about eating out at “Francesca’s”—a former girlfriend), full of good food, refreshed and in a great mood, his brain giddy with thoughts about what the night holds in store for the roommates. The parents drop him and Kevin off, and they open the front door. Brian is in the living room, watching the late night SEC match-up on CBS. “Hey Bri---where’s John?” “Um,” Brian begins, with a giant sh*t-eating grin cracking on his face, “they, um, got tired.” Tony is puzzled momentarily, and then a horrible realization clobbers him up side his head, “Brian, what did you do?” Brian begins to laugh and throws back a Beam and Coke. “Check out the bathroom, dude.” Tony beelines to the bathroom, kicks on the light and finds his young bro and pal passed out on the tile floor. Evidently, babysitter Bri decided it would be funny to completely abdicate his responsibilities and let the young ones sneak the remainder of the keg into their bellies, puke all over the bathroom and pass out. Tony wakes them up, cleans them up, and send them outside to the custody of Tony’s parents, who take them back to the hotel none the wiser. Tony might hate Bri later if his parents find out, but right now the whole thing is pretty damn hilarious. Plus, Bri brought a few handles of liquor, so his sins are forgiven.

9:00 pm: Inspired by Brian’s chicanery, and fueled by a victory on the gridiron and lots and lots of water, all the roommates rally and prepare to move full-swing into the final party night of the weekend. The usual suspects from O’Neill Hall arrive toting a couple cases and a beer bong—standard party equipment for a Saturday night. The Bullshitting ensues, along with games of Cups, Asshole, High-Low, and darts. Soon, the absence of women is painfully obvious, and the usual “do we start calling girls” conversation begins amongst the roommates. The consensus is that the Donkey cannot handle another raging shindig, having not fully recovered from the chaos of Margaritaville. Just then, Joey gets a call on the Zack Morris cell phone—a London friend is having a Cups tournament at Lafayette Square. Perfect—we rule at Cups. Wrap up the highly competitive game of Asshole proceeding at the bar, fold up the homemade Cups table, take a shot of Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, grab a couple road beers for the walk to Lafayette, and herd the revelers out the front door. Better lock up, we’ve got a keg to protect, after all. Notice that the guys across the street at 609 are already hitting it hard, competing in two-man keg races. It’s gonna be a long night on St. Pete’s Street.

9:25 pm: Well, that didn’t last long. The Drunken Donkey was thoroughly thrashed in the first round of the Cups tournament by a bunch of chicks—not our finest moment. We shrug off the humiliation with a couple shots of Bacardi Limon and sugar. Now that we are out of contention, Lafayette holds no more interest for us. Tony remembers that some O’Neill guys are having a birthday party at Boat Club nearby. What better way to forget all about our Cups misery than to engage in limitless debauchery at the Boat.

9:50 pm: Our yellow-checkered chariot drops us at Boat Club—the last refuge for the underaged at Notre Dame. We flash our “Boat Club VIP” cards to the surly looking bouncer at the gate and step inside. The crowd is very familiar: a rather interesting mix of one time classmates, SMCers, girls from Kevin’s football team, Joey’s London buddies, ROTC people and a girl Spider met that afternoon. We grab a few penny pitchers, get sucked into a few impromptu Cups games going on in the basement, and then take our wares upstairs. A full-fledged dance party has busted out. Spider pulls the playing cards from his pocket, and we proceed to play some Drunken Donkey Asshole adjacent to the madness. After twenty minutes, Spider decides that the DJ is extremely lame. “F*ck this sh*t—watch this.” He walks to the DJ booth, talks to the emcee for a few seconds, and then returns to the table. Bo inquires, “What was that all about?” Spider hoists a shocker symbol with his right hand and yells “WEEEEEEEE!” At that moment, the music stops and the DJ announces over the mic, “And now, by special request, track number five from the Red CD!” Then, over the familiar opening beats of the song that “brings a tear to your eye,” the Drunken Donkey bursts out into thunderous applause. Bar patrons suddenly bust out en masse into a gyrating, somewhat ritualistic dance routine. Clearly, our work is done here—time to call a cab and move along to continue our dirty work.

10:30 pm: After retrieving the sacred Red CD, we head back outside, where we notice that snowflakes have begun to fall from the heavens above. The cab has been honking out front for about fifteen minutes. We grab anyone in arms-length and herd seven or eight into the minivan. Now it is decision time--do we make for the Backer, brave the lines at Corby’s, brave the townies at Finnegan’s, or just cut to the chase and get to Club 23 early? As the cab rumbles down Eddy, the debate is fierce. “Backer has LITs…and women.” “Yeah, but I can get free beers at Finnegans.” “We need Car Bombs at club.” In the end, Corby’s wins, but only because it was closest, and the night is young.

10:45 pm: After waiting in line in the frigid South Bend night air, we finally make the front door at Corby’s. Tony heads to the bar for a couple pitchers of “Whatever Light,” while the rest of the crew plunge headlong into the throng of partygoers on their way to a pool table. Spider puts down some quarters and starts to talk game with some chick we vaguely recognize—is that the same one that did the walk of shame this morning? After a few minutes, the table opens up and Spider and Bo commence an epic battle of bad pool. Tony arrives carrying three pitchers of beer and leading a line of newly-found female friends like the Pied Piper of Drunkeness. The pitchers last about 10 minutes. Joey starts complaining about the smoke, and just then an errant cue ball shot by Spider leaps from the table and cracks a rough-looking townie square in his back. No Kevin around to threaten counter-violence this time—time to bolt.

11:45 pm: Although we told Kevin to tell the cab driver to take us to the Backer, Kevin enacts a detour to Finnegan’s. How did we end up here? Oh well, might as well get some Baltimore Zoo’s for the group. They check our ID’s and take a snapshot of each one under a camera by the door—no doubt a law-enforcement imposed byproduct of accepting far too many of our underage fake IDs during Sophomore year. Finnegan’s has toned down since those halcyon days, the jocks and jock-sniffers having long since moved their incestuous activities to CJ’s, and we make our way to the neon-green lit bar in no time. We never quite knew what was in those Zoos, but they always go down smooth, and they always do the trick. The familiar beats of “Mo Money, Mo Problems” starts thumping over the speakers, but we have no time to dance to really bad 90’s pop tonight--we’ve got to get to Backer before the rest of the school. Quickly down our drinks and pop back into the crisp evening where our taxi awaited.

12:30 am: Ah the Backer—no other place that I’d rather be at this moment than thrust in between 300 of my closest friends inside of a hotbox of sweat, Long Island Ice Tea puddles, and N’Sync on the speakers. After waiting the requisite five minutes in line (like they are going to reject us and start adhering to fire code on this night), pay our 3 dollars and collect our sacred drink ticket. You see, Backer is the only bar in town that the Drunken Donkey don’t mind paying cover, because it essentially means a free LIT, which is guaranteed to ensure that you are drunk enough to meander onto the dance floor and boogie to such classics as “Tarzan Boy,” “Bye Bye Bye,” and the ever-sacrilegious, “Just Like A Prayer.” Fortune smiles on us tonight, as the group of sequent-clad girls behind us have clearly had enough, and hand us over their drink tickets. Christmas in September! Give the newly acquired drink tickets to Bo, who somehow always both waits patiently in line and ends of buying several more because he doesn’t want to wait again.

2:00 am: The bonus LITs have had their intended effect—the group is wasted to a man. Bon Jovi and Madonna were never as cool as they are now, but it’s really hot and everyone has managed to pair off successfully. Someone’s already tasted the bathroom floor, and there’s still some time left in the night. We locate the MIA roommates and make like a human battering ram towards the front door. After relieving ourselves between the rows of cars parked in front of Belmont Liquors and that soccer place, we decide that it is time to finally head towards home—with a slight detour to Club 23. Some of us make it into a cab—some just start walking. It all makes sense at this time at night, given our respective states of drunkenness.

2:15 am: The cab ride to Club was way too crowded, but nevertheless we arrive unscathed. Once inside, Kevin gets the Car Bombs, and we polish them off with aplomb. Bo narrowly avoids ralphing right there in front of the bar. The girls in the group want to dance on the ridiculously small and totally inappropriate dance floor (which is also dangerously adjacent to the dart boards), but the boys won’t have it. So we manage to placate them with a couple of twirls, and then high-tail it ever so briefly back to the bar to tell your favorite professor how much you liked his class while at the same time staring at the hot underclassman who brought him out. Then the boys break up: Kevin goes to the corner to chest-bump some O’Neill-ites we saw at Boat Club earlier tonight; Spider makes for the pool table, but ends up making out with a random chick in the girls’ bathroom; and Tony, Joey, Bo take two pitchers and head to the sketchy-as-Hell Club basement, of which we shall not speak here in this tome.

2:45 am: Last call. Who wants one more Car Bomb?

3:15 am: The Club owners finally corral the last of the drunken denizens and shuffle them out the front door. The Drunken Donkey are completely bombed, and stumble down the alley while grabbing the occasional fence post or tree to keep from falling over. Even though it is only a few blocks, we stop frequently along the way to water the bushes. The whole walk seems to take about 30 minutes, but finally the Donkey is in sight, and none too soon. Open the front door—Bri has long since gone, and the last vestiges of last night’s party is now creating a very smelly habitat for our drunken behavior. Probably some water is a good idea, as the room is now spinning and threatening to throw us out the window. Toss in a movie from Bo’s Crappy Movie Collection, probably Jurassic Park or maybe the Star Wars with Jar Jar Binks (the Pod Racing scene and the lightsaber battle at the end is the only thing worth watching), and flop ungracefully on the couches. But wait—it’s 3 am, and where did Bo go?

3:30 am: Turns out, at that very moment that the opening crawl from Phantom Menace was appearing on our TV screen, Bo was face down in the gravel alley behind the Donkey, fully convinced he’s lost his keys in the alley on the walk home. The rest of the roommates find him, he explains the dire situation, and soon a massive search is organized. As one could no doubt imagine, we made little in the way of progress, for not only was it dark, and the gravel messy, we were also intoxicated to the point of blindness. The entire alley is combed, but we and found nothing. Bo is understandably distraught, and we feel bad because it wasn’t just his wallet, but somehow his ring, keys and cell phone. Suddenly, a light goes on in the overwhelming darkness of somebody’s alcohol-shrunken brain. “Bo, did you check the pants on the floor in your room?” Eureka--all items are found.

3:45 am: The Drunken Donkey is silent, except for the sounds of one last roommate shuffling across the carpet in the living room to slide close the front door. One last click signifies that it is locked, and the greatest weekend of our lives is over...until next weekend.

Fin.

Saturday: Part III

1:30 p.m.: The long trek towards the Stadium has begun. Every man gets three beers for the road: one for each pocket and one for the hand. Sunglasses and a hat hide obviously blood-shot eyes, but the smell and the stumble gives away our horribly drunken demeanor. It is very likely we'll fail to consume all secret beers on the way to the Stadium, but they make great bartering items for food, a mixed drink, or just a smile from a cute girl.

1:45 p.m.: Stop briefly for a picture with the St. Joseph’s County mounted patrol. The deputy can’t tell, but the horse looks at us a little funny. He can smell the booze, and stamps his hoofs in disapproval. We also make the pilgrimage to Senior Bar, which looks roughly like you would imagine downtown Baghdad did after the first wave of cruise missiles rained down at the start of Operation Desert Storm. Dead beer cases, muddy pools of beer, ice, and only the Lord knows what. Friends are lying in heaps amongst the rubble, in SUV back-seats, and folding chairs and grassy medians, trying desperately to rally and make it inside the stadium. We leave these brave soldiers behind--onward to victory!

2:00 p.m.: Arrive casually late at the game--by the sounds of the PA Announcer and band, we've already scored. Smile widely (and stupidly) at the kindly old men guarding the entrance. The gate Nazis catch the beer Spider had in his front pocket, but not the one stored cleverly under his Irish wig and hat. The men's bathroom in all their urine-stained glory is an essential stop, and the long troughs are a sight for sore eyes. Upon exiting, the eyes meet those of an old flame at a nearby concession stand, but she hustles away much to our amusement. See another random SYR conquest and strike up some drunken smack-talk. Turns out she’s not too mad about the 4am fire drill--"sh*t happens!"--and she offers a sip of her coke. Take a hearty pull- yep, bourbon. Despite the psychotic antics a month prior and her insistence that going shopping with her was more important than the kegger at Lafayette, she’s looking good and a promise is made to call.

2:30 p.m.: Finally find Kevin, donning his cut-off sweater and the big wide grin of a drunken Irishman, just before halftime. Some guy you remember from CORE didn’t think a nipple twist from Kevin was funny, and continues to stare at him as we traverse the tunnel and emerge into blessed Notre Dame Stadium. The ushers are eying Kevin and the crew as we take our seats, but Kevin is eying one of their yellow jackets left unattended under a bleacher. Since we arrived “a little after kick off” we’re way up at the top of the student section. No one thinks Bob Davie is cool, and as usual, we just root for this football team. A challenging game of "Down secret beers, sprint down fifty rows of bleachers to the restroom, and try to return to the correct row" begins ad nauseum. Realize it is way too early to be this tired.

3:15 p.m.: Another TV time-out. Out of the blue--carpe diem!--Kevin ducks off the bleacher and snatches one of the yellow jackets. Everyone is shocked and totally impressed. He disappears with a hapless, jacketless usher in pursuit. During the calamity, several rows of students topple forward onto one another. We observe from our kingly perch on high with much satisfaction.

4:00 p.m.: The sun has made everyone tired, it’s third quarter, and the game is going well. Joey and Tony decide to call it quits. On the way out of the stadium, Kevin is walking back. He needed to turn in the car keys he found in the pocket of the usher jacket to lost and found. Joey and Tony swing past Senior Bar. They spy a huge blue banner hanging near the entrance to the back yard “Welcome Notre Dame MBAs.” Bo, our Engineeering/Business school roomate, will totally love this! But how can we snatch it without getting caught? Joey calmly rattles off the bold solution, “Just act like we own the place and are supposed to be taking it, fold it and walk off..” Done.

4:25 p.m.: Return to the Donkey with our new treasure. Pitch it in a corner, turn down the noise from the game on TV, polish off the warm half-beer on the coffee-table, kick off the grody tennis shoes and sprawl out on the couch. Eventually all sound fades, and darkness and blessed, blesssed sleep soon cause the day to slip into night.

To be concluded....

Preamble to a Weekend

(Author's Note: I found this on my computer hard-drive, a note written long ago to help memorialize the experience of waking up on any given Friday during Senior Year. I thought it apropos to publish it in anticipation of a weekend, and to fill the maddening silence between my posts. [One of these days I promise, I will finish Saturday, Parts III and IV]. Of course, my weekends are now spent holding crying babies and fighting sleep at 10 p.m., but these diaries stand as proof that once upon a time, I was really quite the moron. -JPL)

Is this Friday morning?

Somewhere in the fog of sleep, synthesized beats and Christina Aguilera pose a simple threat: if you want to be with her, baby, there is a price to pay. Am I dreaming, or is it a distant echo from tub-thumping Heartland the night before? A burst of static from my left tells me that her teeny-pop voice is actually coming from my radio, and realize too late that I forgot to turn off that blasted alarm before crashing headlong into bed last night.

As her voice beckons me to rub her the right way, the eyes lids slide open and light, horrible, aching light, fills the retina--steely shards of sunlight piercing through holes in a make-shift “stadium sign” shade propped up against the bay window pane. As the pain subsides, I rub my eyes and try to discern my location through hazy, slit eyelids. The air is dusty and the sunlight is blinding. But judging by the smell of dead cigarettes wafting from the crumpled jeans on the floor, the stale beer from the yellow Solo cup on the desk nearby, and the odious odiferousness of a dank, dark subterranean hideout, this is must be my basement bedroom.

The whiny voice of a pop idol is simply too much to handle this morning. One hand with arm swings across the body and smacks the snooze button on top of the clock alarm. Ah, peace. One second…two seconds....I almost get a full three seconds of dreamy lucidity when BANG--the sudden violent motion of rolling my body over has its unintended effect. The brain, shrunken dry from a long night of drinking one-dollar rum and cokes, which was formally lying prostrate against the left side of the head cavity, has finished its journey to the right wall of the head. A blinding pang of pain forces the eyes shut. In the darkness, you can almost hear the dehydrated cerebellum pulling away from the tight rubbery sinews attaching it to the inside the skull. One pulse of pure horror….two pulses of pure horror. Silence, it appears, was a pyrrhic victory!

Twenty pulses later, the adrenaline coursing through my veins forces arms to lift my torso from the pillow and bring my knees to my chest. Adrenaline--which the body begins to burn to compensate for the massive amount of water displaced in one’s body during a night of hard drinking—is preventing me from sleeping through this, the final and worst stage of detoxification. Ug—the second unintended effect comes to pass. A wave of nausea fills my stomach. Clearly, all of this activity has sparked some guttural reaction deep within me. The onset of sickness causes my head to drop back into the deep comfort of the pillow. My face sinks rapidly into a sea of relative tranquility.

The new location for my head only angers the headache raging behind my eyes. Now my maladies struggle with valiant effort to gain my complete attention, such that their separate and independent movements now seem engaged in some sort of sick competition. A symphony of destruction ensues while these two factions from the north and the south of my chest work themselves into fervor. Meanwhile, I concentrate on the cool darkness of my spongy pillow and try not to puke.

Bingo. Twenty minutes later, my maladies call a cease-fire, and all sides scale back their aggressions. I leave the sensory-deprivation of the suffocating pillow and hoist my body upright next to the bed. Balance is still a problem, and I steady myself by grabbing the wooden dresser nearby. Slowly, I work one hand over the other as I slide along the length of the dresser top, disturbing ticket stubs, crumpled up dollar bills, Mardi Gras beads, matchbooks, clean, neatly-folded boxer shorts, and a plastic cup which reads “Senior Bar” filled with water, which slid precariously close to the edge before one shaky hand saved it from falling.

The mere thought of water touching my lips caused me to taste the inside of my mouth. Evidently, I took a shot of vodka, medium salsa, and sawdust before hitting the sack last night. I shotgunned the water in the cup, swishing it around as I leaped from the dresser to the door knob. Too much movement. I rest the top of my head against the surface of the particle board door. As I look down at my feet, I see what apparel survived the violent disrobing last night. One brown dress sock, hula girl boxers, a wife-beater, and a purple bracelet made of paper, stretched thin in several places by somebody who was too drunk to remove it with scissors. Looking swarthy, I must say.

Through swollen cheeks I look down, and my unsteady hand reaches down for the doorknob. This is going to be a long, long weekend....