A Pilgrimage
So what’s more fun than being all geared-up and walking down Rush St. to Starbuck’s the pristine Chicago morning after my Trojans hand the Domers their domes for the eighth year in a row? Yeah, okay, so maybe I’m not counting doing “Friends in Low Places” better than Garth for an open-mouthed captive audience Monday-Thursday but it’s still really cool.
And I know you won’t have a clue if you’re a powder puff blue bruin because this kind of stuff is rarer for you guys than a trip to Pasadena in January. But I digress.
A ticket to the USC-Notre Dame game: $68. Grilled Brats on campus: three bucks. Walking into Gibson’s after a win wearing a USC hoodie and getting a table with no reservations: priceless.
So this was my fifth consecutive trip to Chicago and South Bend for the game, the chapel, the Grotto, and yes, even Touchdown Jesus. Back in 2001, I received a solid, sincere Midwestern “Welcome to Notre Dame Stadium” and nothing’s changed since. For me, the trip has become a pilgrimage.
Truth is, this is the one indulgence the economy, the Piazza (coming soon) and even leaping lizards or leprechauns can’t derail. Arctic air, too many carbs, lousy Pac-10 officials or not, my immune system thrives on trips to the Windy City and South Bend every two years.
And this year, there were no vacations, unless you wanna call the hell I put myself through on local golf courses recovery time. Just seemed like this time around it made sense to play things safe. And when I started wondering about South Bend, the voices I heard seemed to be coming from my brother Jay and Bobby McPherrin; they were harmonizing “Don’t worry, be happy…it’s almost October.”
So I rarely go to Mass these days, don’t place flowers at cemeteries, and haven’t even really prayed since Mom died. But that doesn’t mean I don’t talk with and dream about Mom and Dad and Jay all the time, especially on Sundays. The Pasadena restaurant pasta sauce almost passes the Mama Von Bulow test but the lack of homemade unconditional love always gets in the way of a strong “thumbs up.”
Every two years at South Bend, spare ticket or not, Saturday is all about quality time with brother Jay, my all-time marketing director and Trojan fanatic mentor. And it’s amazing how your big brother never stops having your back, being your protector or guardian.
Went solo to Chicago this year and spent most of a week with the Days, a TC family that makes the Huxtables look dysfunctional (and that’s even including Brian.) Hung out with a young Jesuit at Long Beach International, shared umbrellas with USC Chaplin Father Lawrence at the Friday rally at the Naval Pier; I think maybe Jay was tryin’ to tell me something.
And when I finally made it to my stadium seat, I spent a few minutes wiggling my fingers, toes, and ears hoping to avoid pre-game frostbite when I heard, “Jaaack! Dr. Von Bulooow!!!” Wound up sitting next to our own TCHS/USC football hero, my Facebook buddy, Desmond Reed and his girlfriend.
I think my brother, the Jesuits and other divine powers that be kept the game close out of respect for a special day precious few will ever experience. And that’s why I still have the greatest big brother any grad from even the University of Spoiled Children could ever have.
