As a kid, I waited with great anticipation for Christmas morning and my birthday, and the days my family went to Disneyland. They were the special days that I looked forward to, the big days the rest of the 365 simply got in the way of. In 1986, I was 12 and my life consisted of elementary school, Star Wars figures and break dancing pants, and if I was good, the Cosby Show once a week. Then on November 29, 1986, I watched as Notre Dame kicked a field goal with 2 seconds left to beat U.S.C., and fall Saturdays would never be the same for me. I felt something new that day. It wasn’t the pain I felt when I crashed my bike and scraped my arm. It wasn’t like when the bell rang and I had to freeze but I had to pee so I did, and well you know, kids can be cruel. No, it wasn’t even like being hit in the shins with a baseball bat. The pain was much, much worse.
I knew about college football, watched games with my dad and tried not to get in his way when he stormed out of the TV room. He’s a U.S.C. alum and played in the band during the “Glory Days,” like he used to say. I liked the U.S.C. uniforms and that band that looked like it was always having so much fun. Over the next few years my passion for college football and the Trojans grew, and I found new days to look forward to every year. The U.S.C. - U.C.L.A. game was big, especially living in
After watching U.S.C. lose in 1986 by 2 points, I watched them lose by 11 in 1987. In 1988, U.S.C. and Notre Dame were undefeated and ranked #1 and #2. It was before the internet, and I read every article in the L.A. Times a dozen times. I was sick that Saturday (and so was U.S.C.’s quarterback Rodney Peete,) and we couldn’t go to the game, but I’ll never forget watching Tony Rice run the option up and down the field as Notre Dame went on to win 27-10.
I remember thinking that God could not allow me to feel that pain again, that I had paid in tears and anguish for three years, and U.S.C. would surely prevail in 1989. But what I failed to realize, even though my dad would often remind me, is that God was on Notre Dame’s side, and Touchdown Jesus was more than just a mural. The ball bounced different for the Irish, and if it was super natural assistance I was looking for, I needed to find a new religion. Consequentially, 1989 was one of the worst losses I can remember. That year was especially painful because I had been arguing with some friends at school who were big Notre Dame fans. The following Monday morning as I sat in homeroom, I could hear them chanting my name from down the hall. Needless to say, they let me have it. It was a close game. Todd Marinovich threw an interception in the end zone at the end of the first half, and U.S.C. came up short as they tried unsuccessfully to score late in the 4th quarter. That night, some Notre Dame fans who were friends of the family stopped in front of our house and honked and shouted for a few minutes. I was in bed, the house was dark, and the pain was unbearable.
In 1990 U.S.C. lost 10-6. I remember the long walk back to the car from the Coliseum, and that it was raining, or was it just the tears running down my face? In 1991 U.S.C. lost 20-24 and thus ended my junior high and high school years – 1986-1991; U.S.C. 0 – Notre Dame 6.
Things were different in college. I was on my own, living in the dorms with co-ed bathrooms and having the time of my life. But some things didn’t change; U.S.C. 23 – Notre Dame 31. In 1993, U.S.C. lost again 13-31, and in 1994, Keyshawn Johnson and Coach John Robinson led the Trojans to South Bend with S.C.’s best chance in years to beat the Irish. But late in the first half U.S.C. got stopped at the goal line and the result was a 17-17 tie. You would think I was happy U.S.C. didn’t lose to Notre Dame, but expectations were high that year for U.S.C. with Keyshawn on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and the pain didn’t go away. In 1995 U.S.C. got to the Rose Bowl for the first time since 1989, but they lost to Notre Dame that year, 10-38.
In 1996 the madness finally ended as U.S.C. needed the newly introduced over time to beat the Irish. I fell back in my chair and let out a sigh more than a decade in the making. I was 22 years old. From 1997 -2001 U.S.C. and Notre Dame traded punches until a wet November evening in 2002 when Carson Palmer and U.S.C. unleashed years of built up angst and beat the Irish 44-13.
U.S.C. beat Notre Dame by 31 points from 2002-2004, and in 2005 the two teams provided us with one of the greatest games in the history of college football. I remember watching in silence as U.S.C. faced a desperation 4th and 9 with time running out, and I refused to let out any emotions as Dwayne Jarrett snatched a pass from between the arms of a Notre Dame defender and ran down the field. I remained stone faced as Matt Leinart fumbled the ball out of bounds, and it was only when Matty fell into the end zone and the referee’s arms went into the air that I threw my hands up and screamed like I was 12 again and riding Space Mountain. In 2006, U.S.C. won 44-24, and in 2007 the Trojans handed Notre Dame their worst defeat in the rivalry, 38-0. Last year U.S.C. continued to punish the Irish winning 38-3.
I should feel vindicated. The lopsided victories, National Championships and Heisman Trophies should be enough to balance out the years of losing, but as old wounds healed, new ones emerged. The 2005 game was exciting as Notre Dame tried to break the losing streak to U.S.C. and the Trojans were in the middle of a championship run, but lost in the hype of the Bush-push and the N.B.C. jingle was Desmond Reed. In 2004, Reed was a stand-out special teams player who returned kick-off’s, punts and even forced a fumble while rushing the punter. He was a back-up running back that looked as exciting as any player I’d ever seen at U.S.C.
In 2005, while fielding a punt, Desmond Reed’s cleat got tangled in the grass at Notre Dame Stadium, and he sustained an injury that not only derailed his career, it left him with lingering nerve damage. Reed does not blame Notre Dame or Coach Weiss, and much has been written about the length of the grass that day and the motivation behind why it was so long. All I have to say is the grass was long that day, and now Desmond Reed has to wear a brace when he runs. I haven’t forgotten, and I don’t think the Trojans have either.
This Saturday U.S.C. and Notre Dame will face off for the 81st time. Writing about my experience with the rivalry stirs up many emotions. I have great memories of watching the games, wins and losses. As sports fans, we spend money on tickets and jerseys, time sitting in the rain through media time outs, and energy as we ride the roller coaster of the game for four quarters. When our teams are winning, the sun shines brighter and the beer tastes better, but for those great moments of ecstasy, we pay with last second losses and sometimes a decade or more of disappointment.
While Christmas day and my birthday have lost their luster over the years, I know I will have some trouble falling asleep tonight, and I’ll probably wake up early tomorrow. I’ll enjoy the moment right before kick-off as the two teams line up, the dark blue jerseys of Notre Dame and the bold cardinal helmets of U.S.C. I’ll look for a glimpse of Marcus Allen on the sideline and Dr. Bartner as he leads the Spirit of Troy. I’m even looking forward to seeing that silly little leprechaun. I’ll savor the images and the sounds regardless of the outcome, knowing I’m lucky to have 23 years of memories, good and bad, and I’ll go to sleep Saturday night with a smile and already anticipating next year when we get to do it all over again.
Looking back on my 23 years of watching the U.S.C.-Notre Dame game, I don’t regret the pain, the tears or the agony. I relish the moments of glory and triumph. I’ll watch this Saturday with the emotion of a 12 year old combined with the experience of more than two decades of watching the storied rivalry. Thanks dad for introducing me to college football, thanks Rodney Peete and Johnnie Morton, Junior Seau, Tony Rice and Rocket Ismael. Thanks Coach Robinson, Coach Tollner, Coach Smith, Coach Holtz and Coach Carroll. Thanks Matty and Reggie and thanks Desmond.
Fight On and Beat the Irish!
