Girls Gone Wild

There is no experience like being in Michigan Stadium for one of those epic gridiron match ups. I’ve been going to games since I was 10 or 11, after we moved back from New York, or I would have started earlier. In those days, every game kicked off at 1P, none were televised except M/OSU, which was pretty much always for the Big Ten Championship, usually decided on a field goal. The family held season tickets starting in 1934 after Gramps graduated having captained the 1933 National Championship team. I adored Gramps and Grandma and football Saturday was just an afternoon out with them. You dressed for the game then. Blazers and wool pants. Women pinned yellow mums to their lapels. Cocktails were served in actual glasses at a tailgate that didn’t require a parking pass. And we regularly pasted every team that dared enter that stadium by 50 or more points. Superstitions were reverently observed to ensure that record. I got to witness moments that make every ESPN highlight reel, not the least of which was the John Wangler to Anthony Carter touchdown pass. I’ve watched some of the greatest coaches in college football history from Woody Hayes to Joe Paterno, and, of course, the mighty Bo Schembechler. Watched Desmond Howard earn his Heisman and framed my home game ticket stubs from the 1997 National Championship. For me, that stadium wasn’t about the game as much as it represented time well spent with my family. We could have gone to the library every Saturday, it just happened we went out to Ann Arbor.

Change is inevitable. At last night’s instant legendary game, seated in front of my cousin Linda and I were 2 hold outs from the old days. They barely clap and never participate in cheers. My old section, section 2, was loaded with these kinds of fans. The wave always died at my section. If it made it through section 1, the students gave us a resounding cheer. That stadium is so large, when the crowd sings the Victors, our side of the stadium is one beat behind the students. It takes the sound that long to travel from one side to the other. These days, the fans are the 12^th man on the field. It was deafening in there last night. I can’t describe what it feels like to be part of a 114,804 crowd all focused on the same thing (even the ND fans). The air is electric and the camaraderie is unparalleled. Yet, these two fans sat there in their old school reserve pissed that we weren’t towing the propriety line. Linda and I received everything from their offended fingers in ears, to the stink eye to a final pinched faced, pursed lipped, “you girls are really something.” You bet your maize and blue ass! That stadium was way overdue for a makeover. The throngs of fans like those two old schoolers prevented that change for years (Money calls the shots and, whew, there’s a lot of money out there). I resisted it myself. It was Gramps I didn’t want to let go of. Dad, after 60 seasons, called it a day. I did what I could for as long as I could until the perfect storm of my eroding personal economy and surging ticket prices finally did the Fays in. I walked out through the gate at that last home game and said out loud, “the Fays have left the building.” 70 years in total attendance.

Turns out it wasn’t completely over. My biological mother’s family is enjoying third generation alumni. The last couple seasons I had tickets I shared them with cousin Dave. It was really odd for me. Nice, but odd. I didn’t get seriously acquainted with this side of my family until I was an adult. Hard to book a plane ticket from New York to go visit fam in Michigan when you’re 8. But, they’re pretty cool, so ok, let’s go to a game. Isn’t this a happy surprise! Like Dave’s wife wisely says, “it’ll either be a good time or a good story.” It’s both. I love going out there with them. I love when Linda comes to town from Texas and we hook up with her now sophomore daughter at the tailgate. One decidedly Gould trait is a great set of lungs. And guess what? Girls like football, too. We cheer our livin’ butts off! Holy hell, alert the media! Girls gone wild. I feel sorry for that couple alone in a sea of screaming fans, mad that we were so raucous. When we scored that winning touchdown with 8 seconds on the clock, it was an uproarious reaction. The entire stadium erupted. Mass hysteria. Glorious Victorious. I was home by 1A but couldn’t sleep until 3A I was so jacked up. Those two fans missed all of it to nurse a resentment. I completely understand where they are coming from. I don’t like change either. But once embraced, you get to scream, hug, high five and dance with total strangers in one purely celebratory moment. And my family. It’s still about family. I have a brilliant, kick ass, loud, passionate family. And chicks who cheer. Emily Post may have to update her files. I don’t think the Goulds have plans to tone it down any time soon. GO BLUE!!!!