Having just spent another Blue and White weekend in the loving embrace of 100,000 of my closest friends, I sat in the afterglow pondering the meaning of all of this.
As I continue to encourage and enthuse Alexis (offspring #1) through the trials and tribulations of college life, I find myself a cheerleader for the institution, The Pennsylvania State University. Well sure, I am a marketing professional currently employed by them, so I suppose I am a professional cheerleader for PSU, but in me, it goes deeper than that.
Traveling deep into my mind (DANGER, DANGER), I went seeking my first memory of Penn State.
I think I was 9 or 10 years old. My brother and I had friends, Andy and Greg. Our families were also friends and their parents were Butch and Susie. Butch was a fan of Penn State Football. We were all living within the sphere of influence, at the time, of Michigan University, living on a tiny island in the Detroit river, Grosse Ile, Michigan.
It was around this same time that I actually was called to the principle's office the Friday preceding the annual Michigan vs Ohio State rivalry game. Apparently, my wardrobe choice that day, grey and red, was offensive and construed as, I suppose, smart-assery. Although today often guilty of smart-assery, I have no recollection of intent.
Anyway, one day I was over at Greg and Andy's house on a Saturday afternoon. They had just gotten a new puppy. Butch was watching a Penn State game on television. This would have been 1981 or 1982, I think. I would have been about 9 years old. I have no recollection of the details of the game, win or lose, who we were playing, how we did, all I remember is the stark white and plain uniforms and Butch.
He yelled at the TV. The puppy cowered, the children scattered, Susie, his wife, went to sit on the front porch. Mom later told me that she did this so that neighbors didn't think he was abusing her. Then he started throwing shoes. He actually furiously scanned the floor of the room looking for shoes. When he ran out of shoes to throw, he actually seemed disappointed. I was enjoying this so much that I really wanted to get a basket and collect the shoes and set it next to his Lazy Boy. But I was mesmerized and I knew he didn't even notice I was in the room. Everyone thought he was going to throw the puppy next, so they wrangled him out of the war-zone.
I believe that this is the first time that I witnessed passion.
Sure he was acting a fool, over a game in which he had no control, of a school about 400 miles away, but there was no doubt that this man cared. This was a kind and gentle man, a successful and well respected executive. His behavior was never in question 6 days a week, 7 months a year. But during that 3 hours, on that rare occasion of a televised Penn State game in the state of Michigan, he was a man possessed.
Even as a small boy, I saw something special in this process. Butch was a thoughtful man, but he was completely out of his mind watching this game. As a businessman and father, he was careful about his words and actions, but there was clearly no censor during a game. It was also interesting that no one in his family, his wife for instance, attempted to interfere with it.
What I was left with was what these boys-in-white could do to a grown man. I didn't understand it, and it was only in the context of a game, but I knew that something got old Butch fired up. It created a placeholder in my head, a curiosity, that I would spend 30 more years finding the substance for.
I love this school. I feel like my enthusiasm raises an eyebrow now and again, as if people I meet are asking me why. Very rarely do they actually ask me, but every time I find myself propagating my pride to my offspring, or complete strangers for that matter, I ask myself again... why?
There are a hundred stories that follow this one, only a few that have anything to do with football, but this is the first that I can remember.
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