The First Game Back

Last Thursday, I woke up in northern Mississippi for roughly the 30^th time in a year. It was 3:30 AM; a shower and white Monster later, I drove my rental Kia the 20 minutes to the airport in Memphis. By 8:30 AM, I was on the Metro Transit Light Rail Blue Line to the University of Minnesota campus. I checked into my hotel at 9:30 and started walking.

With kickoff still 9 hours away, I could take my time and forced myself to walk leisurely, not my usual style. Campus tours were active, and I followed one briefly to hear what they were telling parents now; the tour guide’s backwards walk helped regulate my pace. For the briefest of moments I was able to pretend I don’t look like a parent until I passed a newly-scrubbed window at Keller Hall.

I emerged on the Northrop Mall between Vincent and Tate Halls. The weather was perfect, blue skies and thin clouds. Students lounged on the grass and in a giant chair. Northrop Memorial Auditorium loomed proudly to my right, art deco Coffman Memorial Union to my left. It was the same spot, same view, and same weather as the day in 1999 when I decided this was my place. I thought about dad for a moment; he told me my body language changed that day.

Abandoning the tour as the guide explained that we no longer had the largest library in the conference since the PAC12 schools had joined, I shaped a course to the The Knoll, the oldest part of campus and always my favorite, tree-shaded with various quaint memorial stones and the statue of John Sargent Pillsbury, a gift of the Class of 1900.

At 11:30 AM the server at Al’s Breakfast placed a Jose rye side sour cream in front of me and refilled my coffee cup for the fifth time. He asked if I wanted hot sauce. “We’ve got all the brands except some.” I chose both Cholula and Crystal; the house brand had run out.

At noon, I bought my new season hat, a tradition I’ve let slip. By 12:30 PM, I was in line at the liquor store behind a frat guy in a muscle tank pushing a hand cart teetering under the weight of about 20 flats of Steel Reserve. My Grain Belt and Pyres seemed quaint in comparison. I passed band members on the way to the tailgate lot and resisted the urge to yell “Band Sucks!” which was the traditional greeting between band members in my day…last time I made someone cry; I guess they don’t say that anymore.

At 1 PM, I cracked my first beer of the season and helped set up our tents, just in time before a severe thunderstorm rolled through, followed by sun and humidity. For the rest of the afternoon, old friends and new filtered in and we all caught up on each other’s lives: kids, parents, pets, homes, hobbies, jobs, community service. Every year brings some hard news…this year the news was harder than most. Fatigue, burnout, concern for the future.

There was a football game too; it was a fun game against a low-end FCS opponent with expected low-end FCS opponent results. But it wasn’t the performance on the field that sent me back to my hotel tired but fulfilled, feeling like a weight had been lifted. I slept a deep sleep, for once unencumbered by stress dreams about work and responsibility.

The weight will probably be back when I log in to work. That’s Future Biff’s problem…I don’t envy that guy.

When we are young, and maybe 1 or 2 of you are, these games and the associated rituals are part of orienting ourselves to a culture, developing shared community and purpose, a sense of belonging. In our 20s they become a celebration of our accomplishments. In our 30s they provide us a foundation and anchor for our changing lives. In our 40s, they are increasingly a fond remembrance that keeps us hopeful and dreaming as life tries to beat the joy and wonder from our souls.

That’s why what happens when we’re young is so important. That's why we need to hold on to it, and pass it on.

Whatever is to come, these days remind us that there are constants in this world and we have a home to come back to. Pauses are required to shock us out of the stresses that dominate our daily existence. Our lizard-brains stop blasting out cortisol for just a few hours and even if the game starts the pumps again, the flavor is at least slightly different.

We might not admit it, but we know the same is true of our opponents. I like to think this website recognizes that a bit more than our team message boards, and that’s why I like it here. I still hope that we win and you lose, but I also hope you’re able to take hours and days this year to reflect on how lucky we are to be here.

Welcome back, everyone, wherever “back” is for you.