Look, I’ll be honest: I am a Notre Dame fan. In my family, there are a few things you can count on: One, bartenders are viewed as Gods in my household and, two, we live and die with Notre Dame football.
Sure, I was born and raised in Cleveland so my allegiance is always to the Ohio State Buckeyes, first and foremost, even though I am a graduate of that OTHER “premiere” public college in Ohio: Cleveland State University. (Hey, what can I say? I am an intellectual who was dealt a bad hand in life, okay?)
In fact, the closest thing we had to “Touchdown Jesus“ at CSU was a homeless man who croaked on our soccer field while looking for a safe place to urinate (Ironically, faithful followers of "Back Alley Bob" still come from miles around to worship his saintly chalk-outline silhouette). Regardless, until my old alma mater “wakes up” and brings college football to the city of Cleveland, I must stay true to my “adoptive Irish-Catholic college of choice.”
So when I was vacationing this summer at the University of Notre Dame (What?!? Doesn’t EVERYBODY spend their summer vacations in South Bend, Indiana?), I couldn’t help but get excited about the upcoming college football season for the Fighting Irish. Sure, ND’s stellar quarterback Brady Quinn had graduated and gone on to join my beloved Cleveland Browns - but how bad could the Irish really be with an honest-to-goodness “offensive guru” from the NFL at the helm, right? Right?
Apparently bad enough that I wanted to invite the monks from campus down to “Corby’s Irish Pub” with me as I cried out in utter anguish while pounding on the bar: “There is no God!!!” (Although I’m not really sure how that would fix Notre Dame’s feeble passing game, it never hurts to have Notre Dame monks, or alcohol, on your side while foolishly questioning the existence of "a Supreme Being" — namely Charlie Weis).