The Perfect Trip

Imagine the perfect road college football road trip.

It would have to take place on the Third Saturday of October: late enough into the season so that the conference races are shaping up but early enough so that plenty of expectations and questions remain. The weather would be clear and crisp; cool enough for a jacket in the morning and warm enough for short sleeves in the afternoon. The sky would be a robin’s egg blue, unadorned by clouds and infinite in its expanse. The leaves would be at peak color: red, gold, brown and crunching beneath your feet.

The game should be one between rivals. Not the bitter cross-town/cross-state backyard brawls that should only be scheduled in late November, but the competitive matches that grow out of geographic and demographic links between schools. A junior member of a state system playing its older predecessor (UCLA-Cal). Or a game within the round robin of the Pacific Northwest slugfest (Oregon-Washington). Or a legendary cross-border war in the South (Tennessee- Alabama). Or the annual battle between private schools that have valued Heismans over Nobels (USC- Notre Dame).

The match would have to take place on campus, not in a municipal pro stadium that just happens to be in the same city (sorry, South Florida and Tulane). The stadium should be at least 50 years old and feature a façade of brick; ivy covered walls are a plus. The field should have seen Heisman winners that “pushed” their teams to championship. Or great backfields that “galloped” their way into the history books on the backs of their workhorse offensive lines.

The game should be far enough away to require am overnight hotel stay. Ideally, the game takes place at a town where the college is the only significant feature of the town. Perhaps there is a major metropolis within an hour or two drive from the small college town; great for finding airports, 5 star hotels, and sushi bars, but separate enough so the focus is not distracted from the remote college town. Like how New York is close to Piscataway, NJ. Or how Tucson is not far from Phoenix. Or Lincoln is near Omaha. Or Madison and Milwaukee. Or Detroit and Ann Arbor. Or Chicago and South Bend.

The day would start with a hearty breakfast of game-day pancakes at a greasy spoon café. Fans would convoy to the small town, identifying their cars with alumni license plates or pom-poms spread along the back window. Honks at allies would be followed by flashing Hook ‘Em Horns or Tomahawk Chops or V for Victory. Arrival at campus should be about 3 hours before kickoff- enough time for beer and brats but not enough time to get so hammered you pass out and miss the game.

Tailgating would best be done in a field used for parking, rather than on a parking lot. Like the golf course at the Rose Bowl. Or Olive Court in Iowa City. Or the north visitor lots at Notre Dame. As the radio blares ESPN radio and the play-by-play from the game of a conference rival, the road trip participants would sit down to an elegant feast. Bratwurst (definitely not hot dogs) would be consumed along with chips, cookies, crackers, cheese, and plenty of wine or beer. Undergrads should stick to beer, preferably canned, cheap, and domestic. Alumni are expected to enjoy a bottle of wine (chardonnay from a bottle on the west coast and a generic red from a box in the Midwest).

About an hour before kickoff, strike the tailgating set and start walking to the stadium. On the way, pass through the most beautiful parts of campus and make a pilgrimage to the sites of the pre-game rituals. Kick the flagpoles on Figueroa on the USC campus. Visit Mike the tiger in his high-tech enclosure. Follow the footsteps of the players on the Gator Walk. See the sod-burial ground for road-dog victories by the Seminoles. And light a candle at the Grotto alongside St Mary’s lake at Notre Dame.

Get to the stadium before it starts (hear that, Minnesota?). Introduce yourself to your neighbors in the stands and marvel at the small-world stories that inevitably erupt. “You were at Mark’s Hall in Freshman year? Wow! So was I!” Stand for the National Anthem, watch the flag, think of our children in Iraq and Afghanistan, and sing along with your opponent. Once the whistle blows, however, nothing further is shared for the rest of the day. Shake your keys. Or make the hog call. Pass the Lion around the stands. Kiss your wife or girlfriend at each score. Fire the cannon from tightwad hill. Pound the world’s largest bass drum. Dance the Irish jig in the student section. Call for the horse while the band plays Conquest.

The experience of the road trip itself and the athletic contest on the field are two different but related items. Both should be enjoyed and valued as unique entities. But the sum of the two parts is so much greater than the whole. What is the perfect road trip? Traveling to South Bend the weekend the Trojans play the Irish is the standard by which all other road trips are measured.

Fight On,

Hans

PS: No, I was not “hedging my bets” by doubling on the Irish. I knew the underdog contest gods would never allow me to get 40 points in one week, so picking the Irish helped ensure that USC would emerge victorious. I consciously wasted two picks to guarantee a Trojan win. Yes, two picks is a small price to pay to avoid another Stanford.

PPS: Does anyone besides Kurt and Bill know the significance of the photo in the banner at the top of this blog?