A sixteen year odyssey across the backroads of America during the ultimate College Football roadtrip.

Tag: Shamrock Series (Page 1 of 2)

Boston College vs Notre Dame – Irish fight off the fumbles in frigid Fenway…

Growing up a native Bay Stater and ardent Red Sox fan, Fenway Park has always held a nostalgic mystique for me. My earliest sports memories involve wading through the crowds on Yawkey Way, clutching my father’s hand, the smell of roasted peanuts and cheap cigar smoke hanging in the air like a fog. We’d press into the arched brick façade, squeeze through the old mechanical turnstiles with a satisfying clunk, before the days of laser tag scanner beeps. Once inside, we’d buy a couple hot dogs for a buck fifty apiece, coating them with a few shiny foil packets of Gulden’s Mustard.

From cramped wooden slatted seats we’d watch Sox greats like Wade Boggs slap the ball around, while Jim Rice patrolled the iconic left field wall in the twilight of his career. My father would school me on the finer points of the game while I groveled for a Hood “Sports Bar” ice cream from the barkers climbing up the steps. Afterwards, we’d camp out on Van Ness Street near the player exit, hoping to land a few autographs before the freshly showered big leaguers sped off in shiny new sports cars. The same spot where I once snagged Mark McGwire’s signature during his 49 home run rookie campaign in 1987.

Despite the cliché, the ballpark felt more authentic then. There were still a handful of the old, “golden era” parks around the league at that time (Yankee, Tiger, Comiskey, Wrigley, etc.), and Fenway hadn’t yet become the self-celebratory theme park it has evolved into today. It was grimy and rusty, signs were faded (not just painted to look faded), the amenities were spartan, and the crowd was rough and haggard. The very bricks themselves seemed to ooze the yeasty aroma of eons of cheap, stale beer, popcorn and sweat. While today the skeleton remains the same, the park has undergone a considerable facelift in the past decade as part of the “family friendly” marketing strategy the Red Sox have employed. A strategy that has paid off with a decade long sell-out streak, and grandstands overflowing with pink baseball caps and Vineyard Vines polo shirts.

Unsatisfied with mere sellouts, as part of the indefatigable chase for revenue (a necessary evil within the arms race of modern baseball), the Red Sox management has opened up the gates to the park for any kind of cross promotional event imaginable, all in an effort to extract every possible nickel from the “lyric little bandbox”. Everything from Rolling Stones concerts to NHL games have been played here of late, and a 4-H pony show can’t be too far away.

In similar fashion, the University of Notre Dame has shown recent exuberance for extracting every last drop of revenue from the withering historic pulp of their football program. The tackily branded “Shamrock Series” contests have featured “neutral site” games in locations of puzzling geographic nexus for the opponents. The contracts, however, are lopsided to favor the Irish who get to claim to an outsized portion of the ensuing gate and TV windfalls. In the past decade, Irish fans have been treated to what might otherwise be interesting matchups, were it not for the peculiar locations. In lieu of simple home and home arrangements, fans have been treated to games like Notre Dame vs Washington State in San Antonio, Notre Dame vs Miami (FL) in Chicago, and Notre Dame vs Arizona State in Dallas; to name a few. Clearly, for the revenue obsessed top brass at both Notre Dame and the Boston Red Sox, an Irish football game in Fenway Park was a match made in revenue whoring heaven. Ka-Ching….

Throw in a flunky opponent, the floundering Boston College program would do quite nicely, and you had all the components for a late November college football cash grab. Too add even further humiliation to the Eagles, despite their campus being only 3.9 miles away from Fenway Park, *Boston* College had agreed to be the VISITING team for this little boondoggle. As if that weren’t insult enough, given the tight confines of the Fenway Park visitor locker room, the Eagles would actually have to dress in Chestnut Hill and then bus over to the stadium like a high school JV squad. Fredo indeed.

Yet it was precisely here, at this eccentric event, on a cold November night, that I found myself. As a lifelong fan of both the Irish and the Red Sox, there was a certain magnetic pull towards this contest that trumped my revenue mongering protestations towards it. And, as an ardent sojourner of the sport, I felt a certain obligation to investigate first hand these oddball collaborations that seem to be gaining popularity throughout the college ranks. Next year, for instance, Tennessee will play Virginia Tech on the infield of Bristol Motor Speedway, and Cal will be opening their season versus Hawaii in Sydney, Australia.

But like all things Boston and Fighting Irish related, my intrigue came with a hefty price. I’d forked over $175 per person for the pleasure, which may be the highest face value, regular season, college football ticket in history. On the secondary market, tickets were starting at nearly $1,000 each and ranged considerably higher from there. I can only imagine the field day the legendary Boston scalping racket had for this event. With a stated capacity of only 38,686, less than half a typical Irish home game, the limited confines of Fenway Park would make this the least attended, and, hence, most exclusive Irish “home” game in decades.

My father had agreed to tag along for the spectacle, making his annual pilgrimage on the PigskinPursuit. We meet up on Newbury Street, the heavily trafficked, outdoor, upscale shopping district of Boston after I drop my car in a parking garage for thirty five bucks. With a hankering for a long overdue, classic American cheeseburger, we huddle into Shake Shack for a few quick burgers and beers before making the hike up to Fenway. When Dad inquires about our seats, I show him our tickets for the event, gingerly pulling them out of my zippered coat pocket like a winning lottery ticket. His eyes grow wide when he sees the face value printed on the front, audibly gasping, nearly choking on a mouthful of cheeseburger. In between bites he yammers something about footing the bill for a large portion of my college education, and how I can surely pony up for a few football tickets for the old man. Add this to the list of baby boomer generation entitlements I’ll have to foot the bill for, I suppose….

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While Boston itself is a decidedly mediocre college football town, overshadowed by the fanatical professional options in town, the streets are surprisingly alive on a brisk Saturday night. We begin our stadium journey down Boylston Street, the sidewalks flush with Irish fans, a shuffling mass of green sweatshirts. Boston College fans are far scarcer. With the Eagles 3-7 record, most of them smartly opted for the NBC broadcast at home. As we cross over the Mass Pike and turn onto Landsdowne Street, the spine of the Green Monster, the party is in full swing. Revelers pile out of the dingy bars on both sides of the street, and lines are stacked thirty heads deep outside waiting to get in. The entire street is cordoned off by police, its width swarmed with fans in a giant, roiling din. The aroma of browning onions wafts from sausage carts, the vendors rolling a few plump links across a hot grill, while the sound of souvenir barkers fills the air with thick Boston brogues. It’s not your typical college football tailgate, but close enough.

We enter through Gate C on Landsdowne Street, taking our seats in section 38 near the deepest part of centerfield, known in Red Sox lore as the “triangle”. The football field is laid out parallel to the first base line in Fenway Park, extending into the deep part of right field, the end zones nearly touching the padded walls of the relief pitching bullpens. The sight lines are a bit odd, as one would expect in a ballpark, and a broad swath of outfield grass separates the stands from the sidelines. For as small a park as Fenway is, the game action feels “distant”.

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As the pregame clock winds down, and a few of the glitzy Notre Dame promotional videos finish playing on the video screen in centerfield, the Irish storm the field. They emerge, almost single file, from the first base (home) dugout while a cascade of green fireworks erupts into the night sky high above the home plate press box. Sporting bright, Kelly green, “Green Monster” inspired uniforms, the Under Armour creations are nearly solid green from head to toe, accented only with the infamous gold helmets. While in years past some of these “Shamrock Series” uniforms have been nauseating abominations (thankfully Adidas has since been kicked to the curb), this particular vintage looks quite sharp under the phosphorescent glow of the Fenway lights.

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Although the uniforms might look sharp, despite the heritage of the billing and venue, on the hallowed fescue of Fenway Park the game proves to be one of the sloppiest fiascos I’ve ever witnessed. With a lofty #4 ranking entering the contest and college football playoff hopes on the horizon, the Irish do their best to Charlie Brown themselves out of the playoff picture on primetime national television. They turn the ball over an infuriating five times, three of those turnovers occurring inside the Boston College three yard line. The ball slips in and out of hands like a Harlem Globetrotters circus stunt, and the plucky Eagles refuse to go quietly into the frosty New England night.

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Sophomore Irish quarterback Deshone Kizer leads the turmoil. He wastes no time firing his first interception of the night, a bullet into the chest of the BC defender in the Boston College endzone on the opening drive of the contest. The meltdown caps off an otherwise impressive 60 yard march for the Irish. Kizer would add another pair of pickoffs during the game (one more of them of the soul crushing variety at the three yard line) to finish with three interceptions on the evening. Not to be outdone, Irish running back C.J. Prosise fumbles twice (one of which is luckily recovered by center Nick Martin) and, for fear of being left out, freshman backup  tailback Josh Adams gets in on the action with a fumble of his own. Even the sure hands of speedster wide receiver Will Fuller are greased, as he drops a few cupcake catches after darting behind the BC secondary. By the end of the night, the Irish would rack up 447 yards of total offense, but only manage two meager touchdowns to show for the effort.

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Self-flagellating notwithstanding, Notre Dame manages to slink away with a narrow 19-16 win, but not until after a dramatic dive onto the on-side kick to end the game. Although still technically a win, the Irish are sure to find themselves a few notches lower in the polls after this particularly lackluster effort.

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In the end, I’m torn about the Irish experience at Fenway Park. On one hand, there’s an undeniable nostalgia for witnessing the intersection of two of the cornerstones of my youth sports passion – Notre Dame Football and Red Sox baseball. And, of course, sharing an evening at Fenway Park with my father conjures enough maudlin, Kevin Costneresque sentiments to make the night a memorable one. But there is still something unshakably artificial and contrived about all of it. A lingering, glossy, commercialism that divulges the thinly veiled financial motive. The entire production feels heavily produced and cunningly marketed to feel authentic, but in a Disneyfied way that feels artificial, plastic.

But I suppose it could be worse. They could have played another game at Yankee Stadium…

Special thanks to my father for making the haul to Boston, it’s always special to spend an evening at Fenway Park with your Dad, and I look forward to another annual trip together next year!

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Notre Dame vs Arizona State: Irish shock the Sun Devils in Dallas…

Having lived in Dallas for several years and attending a handful of games at the soaring monstrosity of new Cowboy Stadium, the trip to the Big D was more about catching up with friends than exploring a new corner of the college football world.  With Notre Dame playing Arizona State in one of their annual “Shamrock Series” neutral site contests, a special event that grants leeway for the crack design team at Adidas to make some deplorable changes to the traditional Fighting Irish uniforms, this trip was a great opportunity to reconnect with a few of my Irish cohorts that were also making the journey into town.  But with #22 Arizona State fresh off a blowout victory over the USC Trojans, this game would be anything but a walk in the park for the decidedly pedestrian Irish squad thus far this year.   Of course the allure of some proper Texas barbecue would offset any anxieties that I shared about the tenuous Irish matchup…(See my review of Pecan Lodge from last year here)

Saturday morning we rise early and load up Bryce’s truck with a payload of tailgating provisions.  Coolers are stuffed to the gills with refreshment, and shopping bags ripple with snacks.  We rendezvous with a handful of friends in the parking lot of a Bone Daddy’s restaurant in Grapevine, a Hooters restaurant clone known for their, ahem, “alluring” fare.  From there we convoy south into Arlington with surprising ease, and then enter the asphalt expanse surrounding the new Cowboy Stadium.  We have a hangtag parking pass for Lot 12, a privilege that Jerry Jones charges $50 apiece for.  Judging by the wide open swaths of parking that never fill up, the contest will be far from a sellout.

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As our tailgate is unfurled in the cool overcast morning air, our numbers swell as visitors stop by and meet up.  Bryce sets up a slick Beats By Dre portable radio with some Texas Country pumping, while Kate lays out an impressive spread on a foldout table. I take this opportunity to crack into my first Shiner of the day.  My friends Larry and Luke had followed us in and parked alongside.  Both friends from my Notre Dame years, they were in town for a doubleheader of the Irish contest on Saturday, and then an NFL Cowboys game the next day.   Seasoned tailgating veterans in South Bend, they were both familiar with my tailgating antics, and we spend the morning working our way through an impressive list of microbrews that Bryce toted along.  As always, a few hours tailgating with great friends flies by like seconds, and as the sun starts to dip into the horizon, it signals the end of our festivities.  We stuff our pockets with a few walking beers and head towards the giant alien spacecraft that is Jerryworld.

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Walking towards the stadium, tickets are for sale everywhere.  People stand on corners with fistfuls of them in hand, asking as low as $5 apiece for the tickets which the university had the gall to put a $110 face value price tag on.  There simply isn’t enough demand for what amounts to a neutral site game between two lackluster teams that are each nearly 1,000 miles from their respective campuses.  Security procedures as we enter the giant dome include a metal detector and possible pat down.  If it’s one thing I always appreciate – it’s invasive, superfluous and ineffective security procedures that cause a choke point to enter the stadium and offer little more than an illusion of safety.  Fortunately, the “security” goons aren’t wise enough for my ruse, and I breeze through with a full can of Shiner Bock cleverly concealed by years of experience (send me an email if you want the technique)…

For those that haven’t been, Cowboy Stadium (recently redubbed “AT&T Stadium”, which I will ignore) is an impressive space, a befitting monument to football in the Lonestar State.  It’s sparkling new and clean, has generously wide concourses that are easy to navigate and a plethora of concessions that sport everything from nachos to sushi.  The retractable roof soars nearly 300 feet over the field, supported by a pair of massive 35’ deep box trusses that span the entire 1200’ length of the stadium.  The gaudy centerpiece of the structure is the infamous Mitsubishi Jumbotron, a 160’ high definition TV screen that continuously flashes replays and advertisements, the largest of its kind in the world.  Stretching from one 25 yard line to the other, the epilepsy inducing behemoth is so obtrusive, that you find yourself accidentally watching the game on the screen instead of the actual action on the field.

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While it’s impossible not to be impressed by the sheer size and spectacle of the structure, and it’s a fine venue for the climate controlled, banal professionalism of the NFL; I find Jerryworld completely unfit for a college football game.  College football is quite simply meant to be played outdoors, under the elements, in the splendor of a fervent college campus bursting with foliage on a crisp fall afternoon.

But despite my purist protestations, beer flows freely at the concession stands, and Larry, Luke and I intend to take advantage of this break from typical NCAA Puritanism.  Given the frustrating play of the Irish thus far this season, we’ll clearly need it, and we alternate a few rounds while the countdown clock winds down.  Although billed as a neutral site contest, looking around the audience is anything but an even split.  The Irish fan base probably outnumbers the Sun Devils 3:1, and the massive jumbotron plays exclusively Irish promotional videos and messages.  After a few pre game announcements, the contest kicks off with as much roar as the 2/3 capacity crowd can muster as helmets begin popping on the artificial turf below.

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After a scoreless first quarter, what follows is a surprisingly competitive, seesaw battle that delivers for all four quarters.  Irish running back and Texas native Cam McDaniel batters the ASU defense on the ground, while QB Tommy Rees has a serviceable day in the air with three touchdowns against one (albeit costly) interception.  After trading a few quick touchdowns in the second quarter, the score at halftime is 14-13 in favor of the Irish.

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In the third frame, as Rees finds some rhythm, the Irish jump out to a comfortable 24-13 lead after successful touchdown drive and impressive 53 yard field goal boot by place kicker Kyle Brindza.  But the explosive Sun Devil squad will not be pinned down in the 4th quarter, as they return a Tommy Rees gaffe for a six point interception, and later punch in a touchdown with eight minutes remaining to knot the score at 27.  After an ensuing Irish field goal drive (30-27), the key play of the game occurs as Arizona State assumes the ball deep in their own territory with 1:16 remaining.  Skilled ASU QB Taylor Kelly, facing a 4th and 13 conversion to keep his teams hopes alive, fires an interception into the outstretched arms of ND linebacker Dan Fox.  Fox returns the interception for a touchdown, effectively icing the game as the Irish assume a 37-27 lead with only a minute remaining.  Final score ND 37 ASU 34.

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Special thanks to my friends Bryce and Kate for their incredible Texas hospitality as always, and can’t wait to see what games we meet up for next year!

Thanks to my friends Larry and Luke, it was awesome to catch up with you guys in Dallas, and lets lock down ASU in Arizona next year!!!

 

Full clickable gallery below:

 

 

 

 

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Notre Dame vs Army – Yankee Stadium

The Notre Dame versus Army game in Yankee Stadium had been circled on my calendar for the better part of a year. It’s arguably the most historic matchup in College Football history, and in 1924 served as inspiration for some of the most famous and elegant sports words ever penned.

 

“Outlined against a blue-gray October sky, the Four Horsemen rode again. In dramatic lore their names are Death, Destruction, Pestilence, and Famine. But those are aliases. Their real names are: Stuhldreher, Crowley, Miller and Layden. They formed the crest of the South Bend cyclone before which another fighting Army team was swept over the precipice at the Polo Grounds this afternoon as 55,000 spectators peered down upon the bewildering panorama spread out upon the green plain below.”

 

If you’ve never read the entire article by Grantland Rice, I would encourage you to visit the link below. The entire piece is absolute breathtaking prose.

 

http://archives.nd.edu/research/texts/rice.htm

 

Yankee Stadium is certainly one of the most unique neutral site venues that one could witness a College Football game, and I relished the opportunity to share it with some of my closest friends who call New York home. If nothing else, it’s probably one of only a handful of College Football games accessed by a subway ride. For all the appeal, however, I had some initial reservations about Notre Dames’ chosen barnstorming matchup.

 

New York is place that knows absolutely nothing about College Football. The nearest school of any football merit is probably Rutgers, and that’s hardly a ringing endorsement. It’s a baseball town first and foremost, and on the list of sports priorities, CFB is considerably far down the ladder. Additionally, part of me couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a replica game being played in a replica stadium.

 

The games between Notre Dame and Army in the 40’s are silvery legends, and stand to this day as some of the most vaunted games in College Football history. During this heyday, both Army and Notre Dame were the national powerhouses in the game. Today, however, Army is largely irrelevant in the College Football landscape and Notre Dame struggles to maintain some semblance of its former legacy. As such it’s a replica game attempting to dredge up the history between two former greats.

 

Furthermore, the “new” Yankee Stadium is basically a replica of the Old Yankee Stadium. It was designed and built to look exactly like the old one, but lacks the tradition, grit and history of the old ballpark. The Hard Rock Café was proof enough that things are a bit too shiny and commercial inside for my taste. Is this a ballpark or a casino? It’s essentially a full sized Disneyfied model of the old venue. Game announcers and video vignettes kept annoyingly referring to it as “The House That Ruth Built”, which was both egregiously misinformed and enraging because Babe Ruth never played there. Neither did Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle nor Mattingly for that matter.

When I stepped inside Yankee Stadium, however, my mood changed. Despite my staunch opposition to all things Yankee, the field itself actually looked pretty good. Cozily tucked within the confines of a baseball field, it was disorienting to look at without the diamond to serve as a reference point. Furthermore, I saw a mix fans from all walks of life draped in Irish gear, many of whom I could tell may never be able to make the pilgrimage to South Bend to watch their beloved Irish play in person. At that point the magnitude of the game dawned on me. This wasn’t just about playing a football game, this was about bringing the legend and spirit of Notre Dame to one of the biggest stages and brightest spotlights in the world. While the luster of the Gold helmets may not be shining as brightly of late, Notre Dame is still the only program in the country with the status to christen the gridiron of a place like Yankee Stadium.

Under that context, the game on the field was almost secondary to the significance of the venue and spotlight. Army scored first following an endzone interception, and their option rushing attack carved up the Irish defense on the initial drive. That would be the last of the threat from the Black Knights on the day, however, as the Irish defense stiffened up and shut out Army for the rest of the game. After the initial interception, the Notre Dame offense put together a handful of clean, well executed drives with a precision that has been all to rare this year. Led by bulldozer senior running back Robert Hughes, the Irish showed remarkable offensive balance and a formidable running game, the likes of which had been sorely lacking all season. In the end, they cruised to a 27-3 victory in front of a crowd of 54,251.

Despite my initial reservations, I was actually quite captivated by the Notre Dame visit to Yankee Stadium. It’s an environment that transcends a mere football game, and puts the Irish under the spotlights of one of the biggest stages in the world. Now if only we could get Fenway Park on the docket, I’d really have something to cheer about…

Thanks to my friends Isabelle and Kevin for setting up some great pre-game “tailgating” at their local bar. It was an excellent spot, and great to catch up.

 

Thanks again to Dylan for the hospitality and joining me in our seats up in the stratosphere.

Thanks again to Bryce and Kate for setting up yet another amazing College Football weekend, securing tickets to the game, and laying down the foundation for some amazing weekends next year!

 

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Fette Sau Barbecue – BBQ Brooklyn Style

The second place that emerged on my barbecue research in New York was a place called Fette Sau BBQ, and came courtesy of Daniel again from Full Custom Gospel.Evidently his BBQ knowledge extends well beyond the confines of the Red River, because Fette Sau holds quite a reputation among Brooklynites.To verify its repute, I conferred with one of my closest friends and now Brooklyn resident Demetrios.No stranger to gut busting intestinal challenges, Demetrios and I share epic tales of dining hall conquests in our wild and intemperate youths, and I knew I could count on his final opinion.

 

“Dood, that place is awesome” he boomed into the phone, I needed little more confirmation and Sunday’s lunch was quickly decided.

After being greeted by an encouraging wood pile at the entrance, I crept inside Fette Sau and was relieved to find it nearly empty on an early Sunday.Apparently the place can be a bit of a logjam, but I strolled effortlessly up to the glass case and peered eagerly at the plethora of smoked meats tucked delicately beneath.I ordered up the usual three wiseman (brisket, sausage and ribs) and for good measure added a slab of beef rib onto the scale that had also caught my eye.

The sausage was not your typical BBQ fare, it was a much coarser grind with heavy Italian seasoning. Though untraditional, it was still tasty. The ribs were perfectly cooked with a deep pinkish smoke ring and well developed lightly seasoned crust. They were probably my favorite dish on the day. The brisket was smoky and tender with a thick charred crust to it, but had dried out a bit from sitting in the warming tray. The beef rib was similarly dry, and was served sliced off the bone (rather than bone in), though it too shared a wonderfully deep charred crust and robust smoke profile.

As if the meat weren’t enough, we stayed for a couple of hours chatting and working our way down the extensive row of beer taps lining the wall. Featuring an impressive selection of Brooklyn Ales, the bartender was cautious to pull on the wooden handles of the imposing cleavers perched on the taps. This was a clever detail for a barbecue joint, and I almost considered pulling up a tractor seat for a couple of hours to finish off the selection of well crafted brews.

In the end there isn’t much else to say about Fette Sau. They have excellent barbecue, an equally impressive array of beer taps, and I shared an increasingly rare couple of hours with a close friend. Fette Sau is well worth a trip across the bridge for that, and don’t let the Brooklyn part scare you.

 

http://www.fettesaubbq.com/
Thanks to my friend Demetrios for joining me, it’s always great to catch up and we need to do it more often. Now let’s get you down to Texas for the real thing, and bring your girlish appetite with you.

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