Stagg Bowl Recap

Continuing my series of "nostalgia files" that didn't make their way into SI On Campus due to my own lethargy or otherwise busy news weeks, I am turning on the way-back-machine. Today I present the column I originally wrote after the Stagg Bowl, way back in mid-December. Travel with me back to the past to reminisce about my trip to Salem, Virginia for the D-III championship game.

For the last 15 seasons, Salem, Virginia has played host to the two teams who have survived the gauntlet of the Division III playoffs. One could call it the D-III Super Bowl, but everyone uses its given name, the Amos Alonzo Stagg Bowl. For the third consecutive year, Mount Union faced off against the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater for the national championship. Predictions of freezing rain had clearly kept some folks from making the trek, but plenty of enthused fans and alumni arrived at the stadium parking lot early to celebrate making it this far.

Mount Union came in as prohibitive favorites, having only lost three games this century, and owning two straight victories over the Warhawks in Salem. To an impartial observer, the landscape of revelers could be a bit confusing. Both teams claim purple and black as their colors. Perhaps that was just as well. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but fans from both sides were friendly to one another, greeting their opposition with smiles and, quite frequently, beers. The celebratory air did much to cut through the freezing cold, and when that failed, purple people jumped in their cars to warm up. Those who made the drive down from Alliance, Ohio did so with supreme confidence that the Purple Raiders would win their tenth crown, flying banners that said, “Merry X-mas” and “Welcome to the Kehres Bowl” in honor of their coach, Larry Kehres. That the team had outscored opponents 605-55 over the course of the season only served to buoy that confidence. In a bold move, some Mount Union fans wore t-shirts listing their national championships, including 2007.

Just some of the confident Purple Raiders

However, the visitors were not limited to Purple Raiders and Warhawks. Alumni and current students from across the D-III landscape showed up to take part in the festivities. Representatives from Virginia’s Christopher Newport University, Wesley College in Delaware, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor in Texas and countless others made the trip to meet some of their brethren and talk football all weekend. In an example of the minor clash of cultures on display, a man from Texas kidded another from Wisconsin, “You talk funny! I have a cousin from Ohio. He talks funny, too.” Despite some gentle ribbing, there is a clear kinship among everyone making the pilgrimage to Salem. Division III doesn’t garner the national attention of the big schools. When it does find the spotlight, derision is often not far behind. These fans are quick to complain when talking heads call their sport “High School Football.”

Fans came from all over America

A group from Virginia’s Bridgewater College has been coming down to Salem every year since their team lost to Mount Union in the 2001 Stagg Bowl. Stone Station, so called because they do their home tailgating in front the house of school president, Dr. Phil Stone, employs contributions from all of their constituents. The result is a buffet fit for a king bestowed on any hungry soul in the vicinity. Much to the delight of the entire parking lot, they served up pulled pork, deep fried turkey, crab soup, barbecued chicken, ham sandwiches, fried potatoes, various salads, and made-from-scratch brownies and cookies. Once the first person yelled “Dig in,” the line didn’t stop flowing until ten minutes before kickoff. When the Whitewater band arrived, they headed straight for the spread, with one member exclaiming, “We’ll find the Whitewater tailgate later. I’m getting in line.” More than simply an impressive display of generosity, the folks at Bridgewater look forward to this event all season. It’s just as fun for them to meet far flung D-III fans as it is for those fans to chow down on all the tasty grub. While folks sampled the group’s eats, they did their best to stay warm, huddling near wood-burning fire pits. Stone Station knows how to pamper.

By the time the game kicked off, the dreaded rain finally arrived. Outside of some of the ballcarriers, nobody seemed to mind. Most unaffiliated fans pulled for Whitewater to get the upset, hoping the third try would be the charm. The game featured big hits, shifts in momentum, and some huge plays. Through the strength of Gagliardi Trophy winner Justin Beaver’s legs and an impressive defensive performance, they managed to outplay Mount Union. In the game’s closing minutes, the Warhawk fans briefly dusted off the “Over-rated!” chant, but quickly switched to “U-Dub-Dub!” A much more appropriate cheer given the respect these two teams have for one another.

Being photographed with the lowest rung on the Sports Illustrated ladder was hardly the biggest thrill of the day for the Whitewater Dance Team

After players from both teams shook hands, the Warhawks collected their trophy and posed for a team picture. Once that was finished, they shouted in unison, “Miller Time!” When one of the neutral fans blurted out, “It’s a Wisconsin thing,” a Whitewater fan said, “That’s right! We don’t drink Budweiser.” The Whitewater players then ran over to celebrate with their fans. Within fifteen minutes after the games end, the skies opened up and doused the area with rain. That cut the post-game celebration short, sending people back to their hotels. It was just as well. The pinnacle of Division III football had delivered. The game was excellent, but perhaps more importantly, the game’s followers had gotten to know one another. They all have hopes of their team’s chances to play their way into the Stagg Bowl next season. But even if the team doesn’t bring them to Salem, they plan to come anyway. After comments about the thrilling game, the most frequently heard farewell was, “See you next year,” a promise sure to be fulfilled.

Stagg Party

Odometer: 20,692
Location: Salem, VA
States Visited: Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, West Virginia, Virginia

I was safe at home. Ready to pursue next steps and all that. My bed, my shower, my electric toothbrush – it all felt more comfy than ever. After that last drive, I would have to be insane to hit the road again. But I wasn’t ready for this season to be over. Are you? Isn’t the only thing better than football… more football? I wanted to hear those cheers one more time. I wanted another game. One I could cherish, savor and just enjoy, dammit. In my visit to Bridgewater College, my new friends told me of the fun they have each year at the Amos Alonzo Stagg Bowl, the championship game for Division III. It’s an eleven hour drive from Chicago to Salem, but I considered that a small price to pay. Without spending too much time thinking about it, I found myself driving south on the Kennedy Expressway before the sun came up on Friday morning. When the Corolla’s odometer ticked 20,000 precisely at the Illinois-Indiana border, I chose to view it as a sign that I’d made the right choice. After all, I hadn’t been to a national championship game in ten years.

I have found throughout these travels that any trip under ten hours is no big deal to me. Anything over ten is another story. After eleven hours at the wheel, I arrived at the Quality Inn a bit out of it, though it was a peaceful eleven hours with relatively open roads and calm weather. Reuniting with the Stone Station folks, we hit a bar in Roanoke. I quickly found that the Stagg Bowl is more than a mere championship game. Fans of Division III travel from all over the country to take in the experience. I may have driven the farthest, but some had flown farther. It’s like a corporate convention, but way more fun. People compared notes, bought each other beers, and of course talked about the next day’s matchup. The weather report for Saturday was an ominous one. Freezing rain with temps at or below freezing. Lucky for me, my job entailed traipsing around the parking lot, which kept the blood flowing. For nearly everyone else, their job only required wearing purple and tossing back some brews. That led to many hiding out in idling cars to keep warm.

The gang at Stone Station, however, was hard at work from the time they arrived at 8am. All the fantastic food I had remembered from my trip to Bridgewater was on display and then some. There’s no way I’m going to adequately list all the delicacies available, but it included some of Llama Guy’s special recipe chicken, Skoal Train’s pulled pork sandwiches, Religion Major’s crab and vegetable soup, Peggy’s fried potatoes, Chris’ deep fried turkey and was topped off by O-Line Mom’s homemade brownies. I’m sure I’m leaving a ton of people out here – it was an incredibly impressive smorgasbord and was free to all. Please leave comments for the ones I forgot! People from all across the parking lot lined up for the grub throughout the day. This included the Whitewater band and dance team, the game’s radio broadcasters, families, and Mount Union and Whitewater students. After stuffing my belly like everyone else, I appeared on D3football.com’s pregame show to talk about my road trip. Ideally this will be the first of many broadcasts where I discuss what I have seen and experienced. It was very nice of them to have me on. Hopefully I did a decent job. I haven’t heard a recording yet, so I have no idea how it came off. Anybody tune in? If so, leave a comment or shoot me a note. Anyway, it was great fun, and show host Gordon Mann did a great job of making me feel comfortable and asking good questions. We focused mainly on the D-III and the Stagg bowl, and a big topic of conversation was the wide array of fans present in Salem. Aside from the large groups of folks from the two teams playing, I met and talked to people from Christopher Newport University, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor, Huntingdon College, Wesley College, and saw others sporting Randolph-Macon College and Ferrum College gear. What an array! I guarantee you won’t see that kind of participation January 7th in New Orleans. A huge percentage of the people here for this game are simply die-hard Division III fans. Of course they all joined in for communion.

Taste the rainbow

After sixteen other contests this season, you’d think I was burned out. Or maybe just jaded or something. The kids in purple helmets on both sides of the field played so hard, and with such determination, I can safely declare that this was the best game I saw this season. Better than South Florida/Rutgers. Better than USC/Washington. Better than Oklahoma/Texas. Better than Florida/Georgia. Those were all great games, but this one had everything. Monster hits, huge game-altering plays, major swings in momentum, multiple coaching adjustments, and passionate fans on both sides. It certainly didn’t hurt that the Stone Station gang saved me a seat with them in row 2 at the fifty yard line, but the game earned all the praise I’m giving it. When Justin Beaver scampered for a game-sealing 66 yard run, I found myself jumping up and down, cheering my head off. It was one of those football moments that makes this sport so incredibly special. A simple run up the middle began with the hope that Beaver could reach the first down sticks, and ended with one team’s euphoric understanding that they were about to be crowned national champions. Of course the flip side to that understanding was that Mount Union realized they were about to lose their fourth game this century and come just short in their bid for an unprecedented three-peat. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I came down to Salem to witness it.

After having their team photo taken with the championship trophy, in unison the Whitewater team shouted, “Miller Time!” I blurted out, “It’s a Wisconsin thing,” and a woman standing near me said, “That’s right – we don’t drink Budweiser!” Ah, Wisconsin. It’s not quite the “fifth quarter”, but hearing that took me back to my trip to Madison. That was my fifth game, but nearly 16,000 miles ago which makes it feel like forever and a day. It was at that moment that I realized I already missed this season. And it had only been over for ten minutes.

Everyone retreated to the parking lot just before a major torrential downpour. I helped the Stone Station gang pack up, but not before we all dug in to some more of Llama Guy’s chicken. Plans were made to go out and grab a drink, but I think in the back of everyone’s mind, we knew that we were cooked. The bitter cold takes a lot out of you, especially when coupled with a thrilling football game. So goodnight from the parking lot also served as farewell. I’m going to miss those folks, but only so much. I plan to return to both Bridgewater and Salem – maybe as soon as next season if I can swing it. I’ve got one more drive, and horrible, nasty weather is predicted directly in my path. Looks like it’ll be a long one. I don’t mind. I don’t want this trip to end, anyway.

Two more SI On Campus Columns

The Bridgewater College column is up at SI On Campus. Note, it's not a Tailgate Report Card this time, though the topic is very similar. You can find it here. I still determined grades which I will share eventually. They got high marks for Eats and Best Tailgate.

You can also find the Rutgers Tailgate Report Card by clicking here. There have been frequent comments here about the "Yellow Lot Savages." I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. Nor do I even understand whether it's a compliment or an insult. Anyone care to elaborate?

Halftime

Odometer: 10,285
Location: New York, NY
States visited: West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York

After seven weeks, eight games, and over 10,000 miles, I’ve reached my journey’s midpoint in terms of time, games, and distance. So I’m going to take 20 minutes and think about what’s been working and what needs to improve. I’ll do a quick film review. I’ll make adjustments. Then I’m going to give myself a pep talk. It’s going to go something like this:

Then I’ll get back out there and find a way to take this sucker home. Go Team!

A couple last notes on Bridgewater. I can't believe I neglected to mention this, but the gang at Stone Station have created a new tradition they perform twenty minutes before kickoff of every game. It involves everyone standing in a circle and rapidly passing a variety of Boones Farm bottles to the right. It's basically gulp and pass until it's all gone. Strawberry Hill is far more disgusting than I remember, but Snow Creek Berry lived up to my collegiate memories. Ah, to be young again. The name for this tradition? Taking communion. I could see this catching on across the country, and I'm sure the Stone station folks would have no problems with being copied.
Also, the BC home turf has a large Eagle logo painted at midfield. The unique thing about this logo is that it was laid down by members of the football team who happen to be art majors. That's another neat feature about a D-III program. I can't imagine a D-I school letting their football players paint the field, let alone tell them that's the only way they're going to get a logo. If you're into DIY, you have to appreciate that. You must be at least a little into DIY or you wouldn't be reading this blog...

In one of my shortest destination changing drives, I departed the smallest town on my itinerary for the Mecca of our nation. New York City is one of those few places that gets your blood pumping as you approach. Cruising through the congested industrial area of New Jersey, Manhattan suddenly came into view and I was immediately reminded how much I love the place. The only pity was that I would be there for only a few days and be too busy to really do it up with my friends. Not to mention the tight budget for this trip that prevents me from hitting the clubs. This is the first time I’ve ever been foolhardy enough to take a car into the city. I don’t recommend it. Parking in Manhattan is darn near impossible, and driving in general should not be attempted lightly. In the crunch to enter the Lincoln Tunnel, I got the feeling that my out of town plates marked me as easy pickins in the battle to get in line first. Or maybe I was just being self-conscious and everyone behaved as they always do. After zigzagging the Upper West Side for about twenty minutes, I espied a guy jumping into his car. I snagged his spot and felt like I’d finally arrived. Whether you love or hate New York, you have to love the idea of it. There are so many people working their asses off, and so many minute pockets of American culture. There is quite simply no place like it. I think I’ve heard eleven different languages spoken, and I’ve only been here two days. I only know about five people who live in NYC, but whenever I am here, I always feel like I recognize people. This doesn’t happen to me in any other city. Clearly, these people merely resemble my friends, but feeling like you could almost know random strangers is somehow comforting.

I pity the poor pollsters. They actually are forced to think for once. Normally they just look at the loss column, bucket teams and rank accordingly. Not feasible this year. They have to evaluate teams and place value on the games that were played. That's the whole point of the polls to begin with, but it's nice to see them actually doing it. My next stop is Piscataway, New Jersey for the Rutgers/South Florida game. If the trends this season have been any indication, the USF Bulls don’t stand a chance. We’ll find out!

Sail On Silvergirl

Odometer: 9,937
Location: Harrisonburg, VA

I’ve never done anything to make myself remotely famous. Like anyone, I’ve been curious about what it might be like to attain celebrity status. And perhaps, yes, I’ve even fantasized about winning an academy award for best director and later going on to become president. Honestly, who among us hasn’t? Thus far, my undertakings have been pursued in relative anonymity. I chat up people at their tailgates, trying not to appear too creepy in my approach. They look at me a bit cockeyed, then learn what I’m up to and immediately profess their jealousy before telling me their stories. But when I made some contacts in advance of arriving at Bridgewater College, they eagerly helped me make friends, and before I knew it, the town was buzzing with news of my arrival.
I chose to visit Bridgewater this weekend for a number of reasons. I resolved to check out non Division I action on this trip, and this particular weekend fit my schedule best. Bridgewater was in the right location for me and happened to be celebrating homecoming this weekend. But it wasn’t mere coincidence that brought me to the Shenandoah Valley. Bridgewater’s history in football is a rather unique one. For roughly 80 years, they were one of the worst football programs at any level. After a(nother) 0-10 season in 1998, they played themselves all the way up to a three-point loss in the 2001 D-III national championship game. Since then, their team has remained competitive, routinely winning their conference and making the playoffs every year but one. I was curious to learn the fans’ take on their sport. Like every place I’ve been so far, they did not disappoint.Matt Barnhart, who runs bridgewaterfootball.com put me in touch with various people close to the program as well as some fans whose passion rivals anything I’ve seen at the D-I level. My first official interview was with college president Dr. Phil Stone who was willing to delay his next meeting when our interview ran over. Friday morning, I met with head coach Mike Clark at his house where he not only gave me a candid interview, he fed me breakfast. I’m not going to start expecting such treatment going forward. However, if coach Schiano is reading, I take my coffee black and will generally eat anything you put before me. While those meetings were extremely gracious and gave me a ton of insight into the program’s past, present and future, I couldn’t wait to see what the typical fans of Bridgewater were all about.
The nationally recognized tailgate crew, Stone Station, served as my entry point to the Bridgewater fan. Their name comes from their location. Every home game, they set up directly in front of the president’s house. While they’d likely never admit it, these guys and gals strive for tailgating at its highest level. That means a ton of food, plenty of drink, and genial generosity galore. With everyone pitching in at different points throughout the day, this tailgate provided the following: slow-cooked chili, crab soup, deep fried turkey, bacon-wrapped shrimp, , fried mahi-mahi, low country boil, grilled tuna bites, BBQ brisket, special recipe BBQ chicken, and ham pot pie which someone aptly referred to as “belly food.” Mind you, that’s only the main courses. There were also plentiful salads, side dishes, and desserts. I’m fairly certain I will smell of barbecue for the next several days because all of the above were cooked on site. To quote one of the chefs, “It ain’t tailgating if you bring it in already cooked!” A group of seniors at the next tailgate over purchased a live goat which they slaughtered and then slow-cooked on an outdoor fire pit. Say what you want about the ethical and literal messiness of such an endeavor, but that was one fresh hunk of meat. Other tailgates offered barbecued beef, tacos, and of course burgers and dogs. I ate until I felt like I was going to burst, and then I somehow packed in more food. The only place I’ve been with better cuisine thus far was LSU, and even that’s a close call.But the pride didn’t end with just the eats. Throughout my travels, I have encountered fans who eagerly told me how they adore the college game and find the NFL uninteresting by comparison. While the BC fans don’t levy much criticism on I-A football, they are all devoted fans of their division. Bridgewater comes first, but all D-III play maintains everyone’s attention. Due to the lack of mainstream media coverage and the concern each fan has for their own school, the entire populous of D-III fans is a brotherhood. They have to defend their sport from the likes of Colin Cowherd (who apparently called it “high school football”) and others who choose to disparage a game they do not understand. I’m not going to say that Mount Union could beat LSU, but high school competition it is not. I referred to Stone Station as “nationally recognized” at which point you may have said, “Whatevs, I’ve never heard of ‘em.” Ah, but if you were a fan of one of the 238 D-III teams, there’s a good chance their name would ring a bell. They bring their tailgate to the D-III championhip game (aka the Stagg Bowl) every season, regardless of whether BC plays in it. That sums up the situation rather well I think.

The game I watched, unfortunately, did not live up to its billing. Guilford College came to town slightly favored to win a key conference battle. By early in the second quarter, the game was done. BC was up 76-6 early in the fourth and used 93 of their 95 players. The stomping kind of took the air out of the day, as you couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for the Guilford team. They had their worst day against a team having their best. Seemingly in the blink of an eye, their hope for a conference title and a playoff appearance was gone. Bridgewater doesn’t control their own destiny, but you have to think they’re on the right track after bouncing back from their only loss of the season.Throughout the week, people I spoke with were thrilled to meet me, pleased that I included D-III in my tour, and ecstatic that I came to Bridgewater College. Every last person I met asked me, “How’d you pick BC?” While I’m still a bit reluctant to throw around the “SI” letters, I had no choice but to embrace my status as the SI On Campus Tailgate Report Card Guy because that’s how I was often introduced. One woman who wanted to talk to me saw me walking by and called, “Hey! Sports Illustrated!” Late in the blowout, the radio broadcasters announced my presence and the fact that I could be found at Stone Station after the game. While that hardly puts me at George Clooney status, I felt a mix of “Really, I’m not a big deal – just a guy working on a book,” and “Yeah, that’s right – I’m bigtime. Feed me some goat, dammit.” Though I have to admit, it was like 80/20 skewed toward the former. Maybe if I ever win that Oscar, I’ll be comfortable with demanding pre-separated Oreos and large bread.

A Return to Appalachia

Odometer: 9868
Location: Harrisonburg, VA
States visited: Arkansas, Tennessee, Virginia

When I was about thirteen years old, an article appeared in Sports Illustrated discussing the rigors of travel on NBA players. It mentioned how on road trips, players would consistently feel disoriented and often wake up in hotels not knowing what city they’re in. My jumper may leave much to be desired, and I don’t have groupies staking out the hotel lobbies (yet), but at least on one small level, I can relate to the NBA lifestyle. After covering so many miles and staying in enough random Motel 6s, Best Westerns, and Super 8s, it’s all starting to blur together. The differences between Dallas, Seattle, Madison, and Lincoln should be obvious, but unless I stop for a second and remind myself where I am and who I’m talking to, I can easily get lost in my own journey. I think I said “y’all” to a group of people in Seattle a couple weeks ago. But I can’t remember for sure. It could have been anywhere, really. Considering I have eight more weeks until I arrive at home, that raises some potential concerns for my personal sanity. But if I can maintain focus on the task at hand, I can always get my mind right upon my return to Chicago.

I originally had planned to make my way to Harrisonburg, VA at a leisurely pace, maybe stopping and spending a night in Memphis or otherwise seeing some sights. But because of this disoriented feeling, I decided it was best to get my butt up to the Harrisonburg Econo Lodge as quickly as possible so I could have as many nights in a row in the same location. Of course when I got there, they told me that I would have to switch rooms after the first night. Bipin, the night manager is a mustachioed Indian fellow with really long fingernails. Apparently he erred in this whole room-switching thing, and I should have been put in my permanent room from the get go. Rebel, the day manager is a squat woman with a really long mullet. She’s vastly more on top of things than Bipin. Only in America can these two characters be colleagues. Well, I suppose it’s fair to say that only in America would someone name their daughter Rebel, but you get my meaning.

In Hermitage, TN, I stopped at an Advance Auto Parts because my wiper blades had become entirely ineffective. I couldn’t even tell if they were making contact with the windshield anymore. I told Donny, the guy helping me, about my project and he said, “Oh, my team is USC. That was a rough one this week.” He grew up in the LA area, but has been in Hermitage for 14 years. In that time, he’s developed quite a serious drawl – I was shocked to hear that he wasn’t from the area – and an affinity for statements like, “This thing is slower than pond water.” Encountering Donny was a great reminder of the universality of this game. There’s someone in the middle of Tennessee who hates Jim Harbaugh right now.

Trev Alberts used to have a column on ESPN.com. I seem to remember bloggers and various other people having a lot of disdain for him and his work. I can’t recall any of his articles, save one where he lauded the tastiness of Chick-Fil-A. Being from the north, his compliments were totally unactionable. We don’t have the restaurants in Chicago and I just wasn’t spending enough time in Chick-Fil-A country. Since Trev left such a big impression on me, I vowed to give it a shot. However, Sundays have been my biggest travel days on this trip. Chick-Fil-A is never open on Sundays because of religious concerns. So despite many hungry miles traveled through the southland, opportunities have been limited. I decided Monday was my day. But by the time I planned to grab lunch at the next Chick-Fil-A I encountered, I didn’t encounter another one. Lo and behold, I arrived in Harrisonburg to find was a spankin’ new Chick-Fil-A directly next door to the Econo Lodge. But by then I was totally famished. People who know me best are fully aware that I am no fun to be around when hungry. Rather than dropping fifteen bucks on chicken sandwiches, I opted for a strip-mall Oriental buffet named the Dragon Palace for ten. It wasn’t great food, especially since it was mainly warmed over dishes that had been out all night. But the quantity was stellar. I finally hit the bird joint on Tuesday and came away agreeing wholeheartedly with Trev. That was a damn fine chicken sandwich, even if the owner wouldn’t want me to say it that way.

I spent some time on the Bridgewater College campus today, and everyone was really excited for me to be there. It’s a far cry from the Texas/Oklahoma game where I couldn’t get through to the Athletic Departments. I already met with the Sports Information Director and the University President, who by all accounts is a very impressive guy. Some people have made comments about how their town is so small, but next to Crete, Nebraska, it’s a bustling metropolis. While quaint, the downtown area has a certain charm and is in great condition. I think every house I saw featured a front porch. It’s homecoming week, and all the alumni, staff and student excitement has already rubbed off on me. I can’t wait for the festivities to begin.