staff writer at Fanstop.com
The first crisp Sunday morning of fall brings memories of long ago when the Notre Dame Fighting Irish rarely lost, and my cousin Tim and I relished in their victories. A simple time measured in the success of Notre Dame rather than our personal plight.
When times were hard but our family bonded tight.
Our Sunday mornings were filled the savory smells of frying
eggs, grandma’s gravy simmering over on the stove. The call of her homemade
biscuits baking would awake us from our sleep. Your stomach would begin to
growl as the aroma drifted through the house.
Our grandparents did their best to help their two struggling
daughters with seven children between them. My grandfather, who survived
marching across France
with Patton’s Third Army (a matter he rarely spoke of) would offer up thanks
for God’s blessings. It was rare that a morsel was left on the table. It was a
time of a lot of talk around the table, and no one needed to be encouraged to
eat.
Following the breakfast, my grandparents were off to church.
My grandfather was the pastor of a small country church. Dishes were done, and
my cousin Tim and I settled in for the replay of Saturday’s Notre Dame football
game. The telecasts would begin with Lindsey Nelson introducing himself “Hello,
I am Lindsey Nelson.” To us he seemed like an uncle that was about to retell us
of the game from the previous day. Unlike now, it was a time when we could only
get three channels, and on a good day we could get Channel Six out of Indianapolis .
We would rush outside no matter the weather and begin to let
our imaginations run wild with Notre Dame football. We had a well-worn football
that was almost too slick to handle with our small hands from years of usage. We
would toss the football all afternoon reliving the highlights of the game.
It was also the glorious time to follow the Notre Dame Fighting
Irish under Ara Parseghian known as the “era of Ara.” In our minds, they never
lost. On that rare occasion that Notre Dame would lose, we would run our plays
that saved the game for the old Notre Dame. Occasionally, we would allow our
brothers to participate, but not often. It was our imagination, our world. We
were fans despite a high school kid telling us we couldn’t root for Notre Dame
because we were not Catholic. It didn’t stop us.
Notre Dame Fighting Irish football on those Sunday mornings
was fuel for our imagination. No video games, computers or other gadgets kids enjoy
today; just two boys, a football, and a free Sunday in football season.
We have gone our different paths in life. I enlisted in the
Air Force, and my cousin Tim joined the Marines. I am quiet and reflective, and
Tim is boisterous and quick to opinion. We were and are more than cousins: We
are brothers. As I grow older, I fondly reflect on those simpler times and
pleasures more and more often.
Copyright 2014 Perry J. Glasgoqw
