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It’s fun to watch, free to enter, and dancing in the stands is not only permitted -- it’s encouraged.
BROCKLESBY
THE WISE FOOL
15 September 2000
22 September 2000
29 September 2000
6 October 2000
27 October 2000
3 November 2000
10 November 2000
17 November 2000
2 February 2001
16 February 2001
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30 March 2001
30 March 2001
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27 April 2001
4 May 2001
The final score secured a fine revenge for last year’s loss. The applause for the Crusaders in uniform was loud and sustained.
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COMMENTS ON THE PASSING PARADE
Football (Finally) Returns to Holy Cross!
By Michael J. Ballway
CRUSADER FEATURES STAFF
F
ew occasions stir one's heart quite like the return of the gridiron to the bottom of the Hill. Olympic gold, winning the lottery, a visit from the Pope ... and Crusader Football. It's fun to watch, free to enter, and (to quote the halftime P.A.) dancing in the stands is not only allowed -- it's encouraged. Yet in this weekend of sporting renaissance, as our 2-0 tackle-football squad prepares to do battle with the Tigers of Towson, the quotidian battles of Holy Cross life continue to be fought. The latest imposition placed upon us students by Kimball has, surprisingly, nothing to do with the food: it is the shortage of knives in Upper. Where is the Mulledyan who has not turned away, disheartened, from the silverware bins, having found only soup spoons and bent forks? Where is the Carliner who has not cursed her fate at being forced to cut her chicken with only the edge of a spoon? Where is the newly-arrived Hanselmaniac who has not wondered, in these times of Freshman anxiety and insecurity, whether he can truly gain a quality education from an institution that refuses to provide such elementary cutting tools? I was pondering this question over dinner last night with an acquaintance of mine -- an unassuming Loyola aught-three who goes by the name of Joey Brocklesby -- when the topic suddenly turned to a trip that the kid had lined up for us that weekend. "Here's the plan," he told me. "We leave the school at 11 a.m. on Saturday, proceeding to the bottom of College Hill." At which point we drive down Fitton Avenue, park on the baseball field, and tailgate before going to the football game, right? "No, no, no," he responded, shoving a map at me. I followed along as he described the route. "Now, you take Southbridge Street toward Auburn. Then when you get to U.S. 20, you turn left, and you follow that road all the way to Northborough. At Northborough you turn left again, onto Route 9, and you follow it across Lake Quinsigamond into town. Now, you need to make sure that you bear left when Shrewsbury and Belmont Streets fork. And once you get to downtown proper, keep an eye out for the freeway. You'll want to take I-290 West. Exit 290 at ramp, oh, 11, I think it is. Yeah, 11. From there, well, to be honest, I don't know what the neighborhood looks like, but you should be able to find parking somewhere, and I bet the stadium's within eyesight." The stadium? Our stadium? My sophomore friend had me thoroughly confused. We could simply walk downhill from the dorms to the football stadium, I offered. "No, no, no, that's not the same thing," he protested, making sweeping gestures. "It's supposed to be a Crusader Caravan, see? It's like a convoy of purple, rolling down the road, showing spirit at every turn." Ah. Joey, I quickly deduced, was still basking in the afterglow of last weekend's expedition to Boston, in which Harvard University's monolithic Harvard Stadium (you'd think that they could be a bit more creative with the name) was invaded by a purple tide of cheering, jeering, and [alcoholic beverage reference deleted] Holy Cross students, the very "bush lovers" that their snooty band so moronically insulted at last year's Fitton Field Harvard game (a come-from-ahead loss for the 'Sader squad). It was, by all accounts, a glorious event, and I suppose I can understand how it refuses to relinquish its hold on my underclassman companion. Our elected SGA Co-Chair set the tone for the afternoon with his unofficial trip motto -- "F*** Up Smart Kids" (this creativity-in-taunts was made necessary by the fact that H.C.'s usual football taunt, "Safe-ty-School," would not work at 100% efficiency in the hallowed halls of Harvard). Men-and-women-for-others painted their chests and cheeks, stood up and pumped fists, and called out "How About Them Apples!" and "God's on Our Side!" The success of Brian Hall and the offense (plus the turnover-recovering "D") guaranteed that there was no lack of Chu-Chu Rah-Rah to go along with the visiting crowd's high expectations. The final score (27-25 if you haven't heard yet) secured a fine revenge for last year's loss. Many of the Caravan travelers stood in place, savoring the moment, as the Crimson-backers left the stadium. The applause for the Crusaders in uniform was loud and sustained. I suppose it was this sort of atmosphere that Joey hoped to duplicate in Fitton Field tomorrow: a sea of purple moving as one to encourage and celebrate its heroes on the turf. Yet when I saw Joey again in Kimball this morning, he seemed less than elated at the prospect of attending another Holy Cross football game. I had managed to talk him out of driving, but there was clearly something else nagging at his mind. I asked him what it was. "Well," he began -- elements of trepidation started to creep into his speech -- "I was doing some thinking about this game, and Towson is unbeaten in three games. ..." We're also undefeated, I reminded him. "Yeah, but we beat teams with names like 'Hoyas' and 'Crimson.' These Towson guys are Tigers. You know, vicious feline killers and all that." So what, I asked, as I grabbed a dark-green tray. "What I'm worried about is, how do we expect to defeat these Tigers if we can't even find a decent knife?" This article ran in the 22 September 2000 edition of The Crusader, on page 11 (front page of Features section) and page 14. |