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It started with a little blue book by mkovac

in my mother's library. It was called, "Rockne of Notre Dame," and was printed a few years after he died. It was probably the first "grown-up" book I ever read, and after that, it was all ND.

The other thing that did it for me was when my father took me, my brother, and our parish priest (who God forbid, was an SC fan) to an ND-SC game in the Coliseum. I don't have the media guide with me here out of town to consult, but I do remember being around 8 years old, so it had to have been 1954 or so, and it was raining like hell. I was crying because the Irish were losing and I was soaking wet. Watching them play like hell, like Notre Dame men, did it for me right then. I was going to Notre Dame. I wanted to be a part of that. After the game, I was walking fast trying to keep up with my group and I wasn't looking straight ahead. I ran right into a telephone pole with the side of my face. All the way back to Bakersfield, in the back of a dark car, I was drying off, picking splinters out of my face. My father and Father Logan talked about the game.

God damn, the LA Coliseum is a great place to watch college football. We have many ghosts in many closets, but there is always 1988 and 1986 to remember. Our big W's. And our Alamo's: 1964, 1970, 1974, 1978, and especially Michael Harper's fantom touchdown in 1982.

Regardless of the year or two before, ND always came back into the lion's den for more.

Being an Irish fan means never having to say you're a pussy.