This afternoon, I went to my first college football game in a very, very long time.
By college football, I mean college football, not the university/NFL farm team brand.
St. John's University played Carleton College for the MIAC championship at Northfield today, and squeaked out a last-minute victory after a pass play that had resulted in two previous end zone interceptions finally paid off.
The game was a rewarding way to spend a few hours, independent of any fan affiliation. The sun shined, mostly, and the stands blocked the prevailing wind. If you were going to paint blue lightning on your chest and cheer with your shirt off in mid-November Minnesota, it was as good a day as you could expect.
As played by both teams, the offense was more imaginative and wide open than you will see these days almost anywhere you have to buy a ticket. (Yes, this championship game was free to all comers.) Had they played like this in the late '60s, I might have answered the Carleton football coach differently when he called me to his office and asked why I hadn't come out for the team.
Today, I sat next to the guy who 41 years ago lived next door to me in the dorm we could see up the hill from the stadium. We recalled the day, according to legend, when our generation fielded nine players on LSD, and one destined briefly for the NFL, then Christian ministry.
If you are a Carl, you cannot take your football more seriously than a Johnnie. It is impossible to approach sport — at least watching from the sidelines — with anything short of irony. Bad calls and importune reversals are merely cause for philosophical reflection.
For example, on one late St. John's drive, the Johnnies were allowed to replay a down after offsetting penalties — pass interference against Carleton in the end zone versus an illegal forward pass as the quarterback threw after crossing the line of scrimmage.
Is this a rules question or a quantum physics problem? Is interference possible against an illegal pass? Can a man be convicted of murdering a dead body?
This sort of discussion is more interesting than just calling for the execution of the referees.
The game highlight, however, came at halftime. Two long lines were snaking toward the lone concessions trailer, where the "best barbequed bratwursts in the Central Time Zone" were being sold by the Carleton baseball team.
As we neared, one player called out: "We only have 30 brats left. I'm sorry we suck."
Within a few spots of the window, the brat count dropped to 15. We began discussing our strategy for getting our order there in time.
A big red head in Carleton sweat pants was just ahead of us. He smiled and said, "You guys go ahead. I'm just getting popcorn." I said, "I'm buying your popcorn."
It allowed my final lean at the tape. My friend and I got the last two brats.
To all the Carleton players on the field, I know the loss hurt, but I'm telling you guys, life is good and you were part of it today.
