Tag: ACC (Page 3 of 3)

Virginia vs VMI – Cavaliers drub the Keydets…

October 2, 2013 / Pigskin Pursuit / 0 Comments

We’re racing down a windy stretch of Highway 33 bisecting the Shenandoah Valley in western Virginia. Rain pelts the windshield as Colin mashes the unresponsive accelerator of the feeble four cylinder Hyundai Elantra. We wind the beige comet through the dense fog of switchback mountain roads, and down into the broad, lush green valleys below. On any other day, this would be a breathtaking drive, but in the thick white mist, visibility is nil. Despite the inclement weather, western Virginia is magnificent country.

We’re running late. Way late. We had spent the morning at a “Go Ruck: Nasty” event, a six mile outdoor adventure race inspired by military obstacle courses. Colin, my Oregon State cohort from last year, had agreed to run the race with a couple friends. After a quick 6 mile morning jog, he assured us he’d be ready to make the quick hop into Charlottesville for a late afternoon ACC tilt.

Another friend Tim, a classmate from Notre Dame and ardent follower of the Pigskin Pursuit, and I both agreed to spectate this goofy event from the confines of the $1.00 beer tents. A far more palatable option than, you know, actually running. I hadn’t seen Tim since the BCS National Championship game this past January, and, with an eerie unspoken agreement, neither of us brought up the repressed nightmare of that awful evening. Instead, we spent the better part of the morning nursing a few Yuengling drafts, lamenting the current sad state of the Irish squad and chuckling while mud covered race goers hurled themselves over logs, wooden walls and cargo nets. It was like watching a live Japanese game show.

Following the misty post race drive, we arrive in Charlottesville, and with only 30 minutes to spare before kickoff, there is little time to hunt for free parking. I begrudgingly point us into a spot on the lawn of a dingy student house on Jefferson Park Avenue. The gawky undergrad waving us in tries to hustle us for $30, but I barter him down to $20 strictly on principle. With little time to spare, Tim and I quickly don our rain gear while Colin changes out of his mud crusted shirt and shoes. With a steady rain continuing to fall, it’s going to be a soggy afternoon.

We hustle straight towards Scott Stadium and when the first scalper I see has a handful of seats together on the 30 yard line, we pry them off him for $20 bucks a pop. Ordinarily, I certainly could have hunted around for a better deal, but we can already hear the faint sounds of the band brass warming up on the field. Racing into the stadium, I park into my seat with only eight minutes remaining until kickoff, just early enough to see the Virginia Cavalier rider streak out of the tunnel mounted on “Sabre” a chestnut colored thoroughbred horse.

Predictably, the game proves to be a lopsided affair. Despite a few initial turnovers in the first quarter, a couple errant throws by Cavalier Quarterback David Watford, the VMI Keydets are completely outmatched by the Virginia Squad. Beginning in the second quarter, UVA mounts drive after drive, marching methodically down the field on the strength of a pounding rushing attack. After each successive Cavaliers score, the crowd locks arms and sways to the “Good Old Song”, a defacto alma mater for the university with a chorus that shares the same tune as “Auld Lang Syne”. Although the game is already a 35 point blowout midway through the third quarter, we stay through the entirety of the contest. Sheltering under the grandstands while the rain intensifies, Virginia continues their romp on the field, eventually running away with a 49-0 blowout. With all those touchdowns, the “Good Old Song” is now seared into our collective ears for the evening like a catchy pop tune…

After the game we take a detour through the University of Virginia campus, widely reputed to be one of the most picturesque in the country. Even in a steady downpour, the campus is a magnificent example of Jeffersonian Architecture. Designed by Thomas Jefferson himself, “The Lawn” is a terraced stretch of grass flanked by white columned arcades on three sides. Behind the white colonnades, sturdy brick structures house student dormitories, each of them a numbered Pavilion 1 thru 10. Living in “The Lawn” is considered a privilege among UVA students, only “4^th years” are permitted to live here, and after applying the chosen few are selected based on academic standing and leadership. The entire quadrangle is anchored by the iconic Rotunda at the North end, a white columned homage to the Roman Pantheon built at ½ scale. While the Lawn and Rotunda are enduring symbols of the University of Virginia and architectural landmarks in their own right, Jefferson’s design has since inspired countless centralized “quads” on university campuses across the country.

From there, we crowd into the White Spot and straddle three stools in the landmark Charlottesville diner. The walls are covered with pictures of the owner – Dmitri Tevampis, who poses with armloads of attractive coeds in every photo. Peering up at the backlit menu board the “One Helluva Mess” catches my eye, but we’re here for the burgers on the recommendation of my friend Jared, a die hard UVA alum. The “Double Gus Burger” specifically, is what I’m told to order, a double cheeseburger with a fried egg cracked on top. Served between a soft white bun, the gooey patties are the perfect gut bomb after an afternoon in the rain, and they’d probably taste even better at 2AM after serious shift in one of the many local watering holes.

After the deliciously greasy burger, we note some of the eating records tacked up on the walls. A former student named Rich Pierce seems to own a handful of them, having downed 8 Gus Burgers in only 6 minutes during his belt busting run from 1995-1997; an impressive pace of one burger every 45 seconds. Exiting the tiny diner, a few pubs look like a tempting retreat from the steady rain, but unfortunately this is only a day trip. The impressive “C’Ville” nightlife will have to wait until my next visit, perhaps with an appropriate UVA tour guide in tow…

Thank you to my friend Colin for putting this trip out there, and manning the wheel down to Charlottesville. Next time, run faster man! Looking forward to the Ducks game in a few weeks.

Thank you to my friend Tim for all the support on the PigskinPursuit over the years, and finally getting together for a game! Really looking forward to a Virginia Tech experience next year with you and Suzie!!!

Thank you to my friend, and UVA Alum, Jared for the recommendations and insight into the Cavalier experience. Really looking forward to coming back to C’Ville with you for a full weekend sometime…

Full clickable gallery below:

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NC State vs Clemson – Wolfpack defanged by the Tigers…

September 25, 2013 / Pigskin Pursuit / 0 Comments

It’s barely twenty minutes after landing in Raleigh, North Carolina and I’m already bellied up to a BBQ counter. I’m parked on a stool at the iconic Clyde Coopers BBQ on Davie Street in downtown Raleigh. Dishing out epic Carolina style pork since 1938, the joint stands as the oldest continuously operated BBQ in the state of North Carolina. The walls are covered in old BBQ photos and ancient wooden booths, worn smooth over decades of use, still have built in coat racks – relics of a bygone era. Sadly these artifacts are about to see the working end of a wrecking ball, however, as the current owners of the restaurant have been unable to come to terms with the developer that purchased the historic building. As such, they will be forced to move the iconic location in a few months and try to salvage as much of the “feel” of the old place as they can.

While the atmosphere has all the classic charm of 75 years of service, when my food arrives, it heartbreakingly disappoints. Having spent a summer in Raleigh a few years before, this is particularly hard for me to reconcile, as Clyde’s held high esteem in my BBQ rolodex after a handful of visits. But my BBQ palette has expanded quite a bit since those days, and the food here has declined from what I remember. The chopped pork was minced so finely that it hardly resembled protein anymore, although a nice vinegary North Carolina style sauce helped bring it back to life. The ribs arrived red sauced, presumably grilled, and absent any smoky flavor. What’s more, they were incredibly tough and chewy. I yanked them from the bone like a jackal tearing at a dead water buffalo hide. Golden hush puppies and thick Brunswick stew were the highlights; a few items I wish would make it onto Texas BBQ menus.

With a brilliant Thursday afternoon in front of me, I wander the streets of downtown Raleigh to get a feel for the city. I stroll past the monolithic state capitol building, walkways shaded with magnificent live oaks and southern magnolias. A bronze statue of Andrew Jackson, James Polk and Andrew Johnson honors the three North Carolina borne presidents on the main walkway, flanked by old mortars and cannons. Through the trees, an inspiring 75ft tall granite obelisk pokes through the canopy, the carved inscription reading “To our Confederate Dead”. It’s the Confederate Soldiers Monument dedicated to the North Carolinians sacrificed during the Civil War, a state responsible for nearly a quarter of all Confederate casualties.

From there, I find my way into the cramped confines of the Roast Grill, a tiny Raleigh hot dog staple since 1940. Little more than a linoleum countertop and stainless steel grill, they have only one thing on the menu here: hot dogs. Your only choices are 1. How many you want (they are linear priced at $2.50 apeice according to the “menu”), 2. How burnt you want them, and 3. what you want on them. I order two – one with mustard and onion, the other with the “works” – mustard, onion, chili and slaw. Delightfully, ketchup is absent from their entire establishment, as their T-Shirt slogan proudly reads “No Ketchup”. After my meal, an old lady that looks like she may have been here since day one rings up my tab on an ancient punch button cash register (this is a cash only establishment) and tosses me a free tootsie roll for dessert. While the dogs are pretty average, the Roast Grill becomes an instant classic on my travels.

I take a quick campus visit, admire the iconic NC State granite belltower for a few minutes, and then shoot west a couple miles on Hillsboro Avenue towards Carter Finley Stadium. Carved into a stretch of southern yellow pine forest abutting Interstate 40, the stadium is unfortunately removed from the bustle of campus and downtown Raleigh. PNC Arena, home to the NC State basketball squad, is also located within this massive athletic complex. As such, the stadium is surrounded by great swaths of pavement, gravel and grass lots, revealing a surprisingly robust tailgating scene. Red tents stretch in every direction and the smell of smoked hog wafts enticingly around me. I spot a few untended racks of ribs on a grill and, for a moment, consider a snatch and run. But rib rustlin’ isn’t looked on too kindly in these parts, and my Yankee brogue is unlikely to talk me out of a skirmish. And after the eating I’ve already done today, I’m not outrunning anyone…

I mill around Dail Plaza on the North end of the stadium, haggling with a few scalpers to see what the going rates are. With #3 Clemson in town they’re asking a pretty penny. The first one, mistaking me for a rube, tosses out a $200 price tag for a single and sneers when I belligerently laugh in his face and walk away. After a little hunting, I hammer a guy down to $50 bucks for a premium 50 yard line seat 20 rows up from the field; still under face value of $65. As I take my seat, students continue to fill in the sections across the field, exchanging boisterous chants of “Wolf”…”Pack” back and forth while an eerie wolf howl booms over the loudspeakers. A few NFL scouts ascend the steps from the field, each of them wearing plastic yellow “scout” badges with the respective team names across the front. From the looks of it, the Cleveland Browns, Atlanta Falcons and Kansas City Chiefs are all represented to inspect some of the ACC talent taking warm-ups on the field.

As the national anthem concludes, four prop planes streak overhead, leaving trails of exhaust behind them. The flyover is a nice touch, all too rare in these days of military spending cut backs. With more piped in wolf howling and an impressive pyrotechnics show, the Wolfpack squad comes streaming out of the tunnel to the cacophony of the now jam packed bleachers. A few moments later, as the sun sets over Carter Finley Stadium, the pigskin is booted into the night air. Electricity flows through the red garbed crowd at that moment, eager for their team to upset the highly ranked Clemson Tigers.

True to form, the Wolfpack comes out snarling. While the Clemson offense is able to move the ball, the NC State defense stiffens up in the red zone, holding the Tigers to field goals. The pack defense further stymies Heisman hopeful quarterback Tajh Boyd, who tosses the ball errantly for incompletions and gets stuffed into the Bermuda turf for a couple of sacks. At the end of the first half, a card stunt is performed and the silhouette of the Wolfpack logo forms across the East bleachers. As the cards are turned over for the second stunt, it spells out “This is our State”. The energized crowd continues their raucous support, at the end of the first half Clemson clutches to a thin 13-7 lead.

Midway through the third quarter, with the NC State defense stifling Clemson and the Pack offense gaining momentum, a blown call seismically shifts the game. NC State receiver Bryan Underwood grabs the ball on a reverse and streaks 83 yards down the field on a blistering touchdown run to seemingly knot the game at 13. The crowd erupts in jubilation, high fives are exchanged, and, for a moment, the Wolfpack owns the momentum. But the bungling referees whistled Underwood out of bounds at the 47 yard line, reversing the touchdown. Adding further insult to injury, because the play was whistled dead, it is not reviewable by instant replay. Despite the jumbotron flashing evidence that the touchdown should stand, State head coach Dave Doeren is powerless to toss his red challenge flag. NC State assumes the ball at the controversial 47 yard line. Boos rain down from all corners of Carter Finley stadium, and a few drink cups are tossed into the air in protest.

Three plays later, NC State quarterback Pete Thomas coughs the ball up on a sack and fumble recovery by the Tigers. Clemson capitalizes a few plays later, punching in a touchdown for a two score lead. Instead of a 13-13 tie ballgame and NC State pressing midway through the third quarter, the bad call and a few bad plays now result in a commanding 20-7 lead for Clemson. The energy in Carter Finley visibly deflates, and the Tigers would never look back from that point. While the NC State crowd would resume their raucous support in spurts on a pristine Thursday night, Clemson would eventually roll to a 26-14 victory, defending their lofty #3 ranking.

Full Clickable gallery below:

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Miami vs Virginia Tech – Say goodnight to the bad guy…

December 11, 2012 / Pigskin Pursuit / 0 Comments

“What you lookin’ at? You all a bunch of fuckin’ assholes. You know why? You don’t have the guts to be what you wanna be? You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fuckin’ fingers and say, “That’s the bad guy.” So… what that make you? Good? You’re not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don’t have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth. Even when I lie. So say good night to the bad guy! Come on. The last time you gonna see a bad guy like this again, let me tell you. Come on. Make way for the bad guy. There’s a bad guy comin’ through! Better get outta his way!”

-Tony Montana, Scarface

Every story has a bad guy. A heel. A villain. The truth is, whether we admit it or not – we need the bad guy. In places that we don’t talk about, or scarcely even acknowledge, there are demons to be found. There’s a dark side to all of us. “Some men”, in the words of Alfred from Dark Knight “just want to watch the world burn”.

In the world of college football, that team is Miami. Since the early 1980’s, no other team has been so polarizing, drawn as much ire and enmity, as the Miami Hurricanes. While most of the college football world undoubtedly skirts NCAA rules, conferences like the SEC hide their cheating behind a façade of gentile southern mannerisms. An “aw shucks, we didn’t mean it” dismissive flippancy. Not Miami. Miami flaunts it. They’re brash, arrogant and in your face. They’re a big, throbbing middle finger to the establishment. To many, Miami represents the epicenter for shameless, “me first” self promotion and braggadocio that has pervaded the modern commercialized game like a cancer. They’re thugs. They scare the shit out of white people.

Although these thuggish labels persist to this day, and I am as guilty as any for letting the rampant transgressions of the 1980’s inform my bias of the school, the reality is that the University of Miami is a far different place than historical perceptions of their football team would belie. The school itself is actually a smaller, elite private university that ranks atop the major Florida schools. Standing university President Donna Shalala, a former Clinton advisor, has made strides to restore integrity to the program despite her dubious ties to the Nevin Shapiro recruiting scandal which implicated over 72 former players for past violations. Under her watch, however, the graduation success rate (according to official NCAA statistics) among football players at Miami has swelled to 94% in 2012. Read that again – 94%. Miami. If those are thugs, than they are smarter classroom thugs than both Duke (92%) and Stanford (90%).

But whatever perceptions you choose to believe about Miami, and it’s a polarizing place to be sure, college football is better when the Hurricanes are good at being bad men. At their best they play tough, cocky, perhaps even dirty football. But they win. A lot. During a decade long stretch from 1985-1994 they won 58 home games in a row, the longest such streak in NCAA history. Nobody is indifferent towards Miami, and with morbid fascination, I wanted to stare into the belly of the monster first hand. The Hurricanes were hosting Virginia Tech for a Thursday night primetime tilt, and it would make the perfect front end of a Sunshine State weekend doubleheader.

I rolled into Miami on a Thursday morning, navigating a few exhausting miles of moveable walkways at the airport before reaching the rental car center. A few hours later I meet Chrissy in South Beach, and we cruise the tiny Ford Focus northward up Highway 1A, the main artery on the island. The road is flanked by sparkling South Beach glamour. Palm trees line the medians, while brilliant yellow Ferraris and pearl blue Maseratis speed by our tiny shitbox. A line of massive yachts are moored alongside the highway, deck crews out polishing the brass and steel detailing on the floating fiberglass palaces.

We stop for lunch at Le Tub Saloon, a burger joint I’d been assured was the best in Miami from Sports Illustrated writer Andy Staples. Situated in the Hollywood area, it’s a bayside shack that looks like a Jimmy Buffet inspired nightmare, with goofy beach kitsch adorning every surface. A bright green iguana keeps us company while we settle into a creaky wooden table, opting for the one least speckled with bird shit. The burgers are excellent though, wrist thick 13oz monsters, expertly cooked medium rare. Paired with an orange sun settling over the water and an ice cold Yuengling Lager, it makes for a fine late lunch.

Driving over to Sun Life Stadium, home of both the Dolphins and Hurricanes I begrudgingly fork over 30 bucks to park in the featureless lots surrounding the venue. Like most NFL stadia, the place is completely sterile. Situated over twenty miles from The University of Miami campus in Coral Gables, the venue is well removed from the bustle and energy of a college campus. Culture is distinctly absent. The stadium itself is an unfortunate concrete eyesore, a giant octagonal fortress plopped coldly into a sea of asphalt like an invading spaceship. Even the “Sun Life” branding is tacked up on vinyl, easily torn down for the next highest bidder on naming rights. NFL stadiums are soulless.

We meet up with James, a friend I’d met through the website after he’d heard about my adventures and invited me for a few cold ones at his tailgate. A Notre Dame undergrad and Miami law school grad, I grimace at the internal conflict James must endure being a fan of such two polar opposite schools. A practicing attorney in Miami, his delightfully rowdy tailgate resembles a Miami Bar Association meeting, including the gin box and beer pong table. James welcomingly thrusts a beer into my empty hands, and, along with his gracious family, we chat about some of the adventures he’s had chasing the Irish and Hurricanes around the country. Following a shot of gin, another beer is forced into my empty hand, the can lying on its side this time with a quarter sized hole punched near the base. Following the usual rabble of smack talking, the entire Orange garbed group encircles, pounding the brews in unison “shotgun” fashion. After 13oz of burger, I chug mine deliberately. It’s impolite to spew the contents of one’s lunch onto an esteemed tailgate such as this. Especially in mixed company. Despite my caution, the fizzy beer still traces a small trail of foam down the front of my green shirt, specially chosen to blend in with the Hurricane crowd. My stomach rumbles in agony. With that, we make ready for kickoff.

Ambling our way into the stadium, we find our seats in front of an elderly grandmother. An obvious transplant with an insufferable New York brogue, she’s intent on chewing my ears off and continually reminding the portly fellow a few rows below to “sit down in front” – including key 3^rd downs. Along with the senior citizens surrounding us, the entire atmosphere feels more like a bowl game. While Thursday night games may satisfy our weekday urge for televised football, in person they are decidedly second rate. Despite the official attendance of 37,219 on this night, the stadium feels empty and lifeless. Most of the crowd noise comes artificially pumped in over the loudspeakers during key third downs. The upper tiers of the giant bowl are nearly uninhabited. Even the student section stands listlessly in the endzone, their numbers clearly diminished.

Shortly after the Scorpions’ “Rock you Like a Hurricane” pumps through the loudspeakers, the Miami squad takes the field, emerging from a giant inflatable helmet in a haze of smoke (the now ubiquitous smoke entrance is a tradition Miami claims to have invented). They make fast work of the Hokies early, jumping out to a 14-3 lead after the first frame. The Hurricanes take advantage of a few rare miscues by Virginia Tech special teams, or “Beamer Ball” as it’s colloquially known for head coach Frank Beamers renowned emphasis on special teams play. Miami blocks a Hokie punt on one drive then returns another kickoff for 81yards on the next drive. Despite the early onslaught, they play sloppy from there. The offense struggles to find a rhythm and sputters on key third downs, but they do enough to chip in a few intermittent field goals. Although the Hokies outgain Miami in total yards, they cough the ball up three times. Despite two of the ACC perennial powerhouses on the field, it’s a sloppy game punctuated by a few key special team gaffs that make the difference. In the end, Miami prevails 30-12, in front of a largely aloof Thursday night crowd.

Admittedly, I feel like I need another visit to truly get the entire Miami football experience. I was warned by James that a Thursday night game would be rather tame, and he was certainly correct. I came in expecting the place to be intimidating and dangerous, a hard world of hard men, maybe even borderline criminal. I wanted to see the beast. Instead, what I saw was soft. It had all the actors of a football game, but was hollowed by two mediocre teams playing on a Thursday night in front of half a crowd. Indifference is not a true hallmark of Miami.

I know Miami is far badder than that. So I want to see them again, but at their apex. The monsters unleashed. When they are good at being bad again. Indeed, when they’re at their very worst…

Thank you to James along with his wonderful friends and family for the great hospitality and warm welcome at their tailgate. Look forward to seeing you guys on January 7th!

Special thanks again to Chrissy for sharing another adventure this fall!

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Tag: ACC (Page 3 of 3)

Virginia vs VMI – Cavaliers drub the Keydets…

NC State vs Clemson – Wolfpack defanged by the Tigers…

Miami vs Virginia Tech – Say goodnight to the bad guy…

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