I love football. As a newly
employed educator, I have taken in a couple recent high school football games
in central Minnesota. I have never played the beautiful sport, but I have been
indulged in it since I can remember. Saturday’s used to include homemade chili
and Minnesota Golden Gopher Games. Sunday’s involved church, morning brunch and
rushing home for noon kickoff of the local Vikings. Now, fall Friday nights
include walking down the street from my house to the high school field. I watch
as my brother’s friends who used to come over when we were younger rush onto
the field in front of a few thousand screaming fans, many of them students who
come together and arrive early with signs and wearing the jersey of their best
friend or significant other. A local group of boys arrive a little later than
the rest of the students. “The Blue Crew” as they call themselves, wait until
the rest of their friends and fellow students are in their seats before they
rush up the stairs. From there, they lead in cheers & chants that provide
an atmosphere that make me happy to be from a small community. The players are
heroes, the fans are loyal, and win or lose, the community has their back. It
is simple, it is beautiful, it is perfect.
Once you graduate high school you
leave these small communities and go off to college. Some people leave for the
city, to the big D1 schools that bring in 50,000-100,000 fans every Saturday. I
had those dreams once, to be on one of those campuses, and where I ended up
couldn’t be different.
Collegeville is a small town off
Highway 94, exiting right after you pass Saint Cloud. Collegeville, mixed with
Saint Joseph, make up the colleges of Saint Benedict and Saint John’s
University. The sleeping arrangements are separate, but the communities
couldn’t be closer. The classes are mixed and both campuses constantly have
both male and female students roaming the grounds. The Johnnies and Bennies as
they are called, make up their own community of people who are willing to go
above and beyond in anyway possible. Our reward: Johnnie Football.
If you have ever heard of Saint
John’s University, the reason you have is because of Johnnie Football. You have
heard of Coach John, of his title of “Most Wins in College Football,” and you
have heard of the tradition. If you haven’t heard of Saint John’s, you are
reading this blog, wondering what could be so special about a college football
team in the middle of nowhere. I asked the same question too, until I
experienced my first Johnnie game as a Saint John’s student.
The color red is beautiful, but the
color red is also powerful. I never liked the color red much, mostly because
our rival high school’s colors were red and black. I didn’t own any red
clothes, and I never would claim it as my favorite color. I bought my first red
sweatshirt my sophomore year of high school, and you know I am not lying
because who remembers when they buy their first sweatshirt of a certain color?
I do. That is how weird it was for me to buy a red sweatshirt. I bought a
Johnnie Football T-shirt when I arrived on campus late summer of 2010. I heard
that everyone wore red to the football games, and I was not going to be the freshman
with the lanyard around my neck wearing a white T-shirt in a sea of red.
I arrived with some friends early
to the game and the place was already filling up. Older couples were slowly
making their way to the seats, while others started setting down blankets and
chairs around the grass area. The North end zone stood the students, while
across the field and up the hill were tailgaters that were enjoying an early beverage
and a hot dog. Everyone looked like they knew each other and were connected in
someway. If I only knew how small and connected the world was as a 19 year old.
1:00 PM means the game is about to
begin and so my friends and I finally make our way to the student stands. Every
student is wearing red. Every one. The student section smells of overly
cologned males, popcorn, and liquor, half from the night before at Sal’s bar,
and the other half from the students who decided to sneak it in. No one paid
for a ticket, our student ID’s were enough to get us into the Clemens Stadium,
which among other things, has been called one of the top 10 places to watch a
college football game. Our hands all went up as the opening kick went high into
the cloudless blue sky. Throughout the course of the game we chanted and
cheered. “The Blue Crew” from my hometown was replaced by “The Rat Pak,” who
among other things led cheers, established a kiss cam for students, threw free
pizza into the crowds, and dressed hilariously…in red.
As I arrived back on campus for the
first time since graduating in May, I found myself jealous of the students who
were arriving in the north end zone for one of the first times. I was at the
other end, tailgating at Saint John’s for the first time as an alum, and
reminiscing about our experiences on the beautiful campus. We finally decide to
enter the stadium about 20 minutes after kickoff. I search my wallet for my
student ID and flash it quickly as I walk by the security guard. (What they
don’t know can’t hurt them right?) I look at the scoreboard to a 28-0 Johnnie
lead over Hamline University. I should have known from the cheers that I heard
while tailgating that the Johnnies held a commanding lead. I look around as I
see thousands of people. Kids, adults, grandparents, girlfriends, community
members, and alums all gathered together on a Saturday afternoon to watch a
simple game. Win or lose, the field will be filled with red after the game as
everyone will make their way down to talk to their friends, sons, or boyfriends
who played in the game. They will head back to the locker room, take a quick
shower, and rejoin the community as students in a couple hours, but for the
time being they are looked up to by kids and adults alike. For the time being,
they are the reason why we came from near and far. To them, and to all of us,
football is more than just a game.
As you can see, football has had an
impact on my life from the time I can remember. Today, I spend much of my
Saturday’s and all of my Sunday watching the beautiful sport I grew up with. I
have never put on pads; I have never run a route, except for in the backyard
with my brothers and friends growing up. I don’t own gloves or a helmet, and I
never participated in a two-a-day practice. To me, that means nothing. To
others, those memories mean everything.
As I finish watching Monday Night
Football this week, I think back to those high school and college players on
the field. Most of them will never make it onto my TV for a Sunday or Monday
game. They are playing their last few games and then they are on to bigger and
better things. For now though, these guys are what makes this time of the year so
great. They give us time away from our daily lives and allow us to cheer and
scream like we are years younger than we want to admit. They bring people
together, if only for a couple hours. Some call it just a game, but to so many
of us, it is so much more. It motivates us, it brings us together, and it
connects us. It can make you angry or it can send a chill down your back.
Sports in general can do that to us, and that emotion is what brings us back,
even if it “just a game.”
