Musings from Arledge: Here come the Irish

There’s something deep under all that old concrete. Things you don’t understand. You can’t predict when you’ll see them. They can’t be summoned at will. Sometimes they lie still for years. And sometimes, when you least expect it, they spill onto the Coliseum floor and make miracles happen. 

They have a saying at Notre Dame: wake up the echoes. They like to think that the history of Notre Dame football is an almost mystical thing and that sometimes the old ghosts of Rockne, Leahy, and the Four Horsemen make an appearance and work magic for the Irish. I’ve been to Notre Dame Stadium. I’ve seen some strange things happen. Maybe there’s something to what they say. 

But longtime Notre Dame fans know that the Coliseum has its own ghosts. And they occasionally rise up to torment the Irish. Like in 1996, when a top-ten Notre Dame team came into the Coliseum to take on an awful, demoralized, 5-6 USC team that hadn’t beaten the Irish in twelve years….

And that should do it. With this extra point, the Irish will go up nine with only 3:52 left, and USC’s streak of futility against the Irish will extend to 13 years. The snap is good, the hold is down, he missed it! He missed it! And this is still a one-score game.

The ghosts have a mind of their own. When they appear, they don’t always appear on time. They do as they wish. Sometimes, for reasons nobody understands, they might make an appearance for only 17 minutes. But that is enough….

It’s been all Notre Dame this afternoon. The third-ranked Irish lead 24-6 as we start the second half and the Trojans need something special to get back into this one. Here’s the kick. Anthony Davis fields it two yards deep in the end zone, he has a seam, he cuts outside, and Davis is gone!

The ghosts are unpredictable. They can’t be bribed. They don’t always respond to supplication. Many times I’ve sat in the Coliseum begging them for help; many times I’ve been disappointed. The ghosts are often just, and they don’t always rescue USC from its own ineptitude. If you hire the son of an O line coach or if you refuse to just run the damn ball, they might turn away and leave you to suffer the consequences of your own decisions.

But not always. Sometimes they hear our cries, sometimes they feel our pain, and sometimes—sometimes—they emerge just in time to punish the guilty. They seem especially keen to destroy Irish national title hopes. They seem to know just how terrible it is for Notre Dame to win it all. And then they appear, with fire in their eyes and anger on their brows. 

The ghosts first appeared in 1938 when the undefeated, number-one Irish came into the season finale needing only to beat USC to claim another national title. And left with a shocking 13-0 defeat.

The ghosts have made many appearances since. Like in 1964, when Notre Dame and its Heisman-winning quarterback walked into the Coliseum undefeated and ranked number one against an unranked, 6-3 USC team. The Irish led 17-0 at the half, and then, suddenly, They appeared….

It’s 3^rd and 8, only 1:33 remaining, the Irish lead 17-13. Ball is on the right hash. Snap to Craig Fertig, he rolls to his left, throws over the middle to Rod Sherman, he has it! Breaks a tackle at the two!  And he scores! Touchdown USC! The Trojans take the lead!

And in 1970, when an undefeated and second-ranked Irish team came to the Coliseum to play a mediocre USC team that was 5-4-1 on the season and had lost four of their previous six, including a blowout loss to UCLA the previous week. Notre Dame had the better team, including a Hall of Fame quarterback who threw for a record 526 yards. It wasn’t enough. When the ghosts put their fingers on the scales, it doesn’t matter what the Irish do. Trojans 38, Irish 28.

It happened again in 1980. A 7-2-1 USC team coming off back-to-back losses to Washington and UCLA met an undefeated, second-ranked Notre Dame team that was headed to the Sugar Bowl to face Georgia for a shot at the national title.  The undermanned Trojans were also down their most important man, as Marcus Allen would sit out the game with an eye injury. No matter. The ghosts had already decided the outcome. USC dominated Notre Dame, 20-3.

I’m not saying the ghosts will make an appearance Saturday. That would be presumptuous. I have no power over them, and neither do any of you. But the situation looks familiar: a highly ranked Notre Dame team with a shot at the national title, a struggling USC team with little to play for other than the dream of spoiling their primary rival’s season. 

Most USC fans look at this game and see an Irish romp. I get it; no judgment. USC has been a brutal disappointment this year, falling off a cliff after that LSU game. The Trojans have issues all over the place. The quarterback play has been inconsistent; the offensive line struggles in pass protection and just plain misses assignments at key moments; field goal attempts are unpredictable and silly, more befitting a circus than a blue-blood football program; the defense is gutty but not overly talented; and Lincoln Riley just can’t help himself. Like a kid staring at the cookie jar on the kitchen counter, he can’t resist temptation, no matter how many times he tells himself not to and no matter how many times the people around him try to counsel him to do the right thing. Consequences be damned, he is going to throw the football. Ball inside the five? Throw the fade! Throw the fade! Throw the fade!

Logic says that USC is in trouble Saturday. And maybe they are. Probably they are. But the ghosts don’t care about logic. They don’t care about USC’s mediocrity. They don’t care about X’s and O’s. When they’re inflamed, all of that logic just melts away, and all that remains is their desire to destroy the Irish. And when they set out to do it, they do it. 

And that, my friends, is a glorious thing. If you’ve read my articles over the years or seen my videos, you know what this game means to me. This is the greatest rivalry in college football. It’s the only one between two blue bloods that are not connected by geography. There is no obvious reason for this game. The schools are vastly different and very far away from each other. The programs are brought together only by many years of greatness. A combined 22 national titles, 15 Heisman Trophies, 28 NFL Hall of Famers, 11 overall number-one draft picks, 193 consensus All-Americans. No other rivalry has those numbers. No other rivalry is anything like this. I won’t spend any more time on this today. I tried giving my thoughts on this rivalry once before, and I’m not sure I can express it better than I did then.

Beating UCLA is an obligation. It’s important, and it’s necessary, but it’s a job. It’s critical for college football hygiene, so USC is obligated to do its duty. The college football gods are angry when USC fails. That USC did so this past week is a relief, as ugly and uninspiring as that performance was. 

With that obligation out of the way, USC can focus on what’s most important: beating the Irish. Beating Notre Dame, especially when Notre Dame is good, is a glorious thing. 

I will be there Saturday, as I always am for the USC-Notre Dame game. I go realizing that I will probably leave disappointed. Notre Dame isn’t a great team, but they’ve been playing tough football and have been consistent for the last two months. USC obviously hasn’t. I have no logical reason to believe this USC team will do anything other than play sloppy, uninspired football and let Notre Dame walk away with a solid win and a berth in the college football playoff. I know that; of course I do.

But here’s the thing: the ghosts might appear. You never know. They’ve done it before in situations just as bleak if not more hopeless. Maybe, just maybe, the ghosts are angry and ready to take their revenge. Maybe something will stir Saturday below all of that ancient concrete. Maybe it will spill out of the tunnel and overwhelm a bunch of young men from South Bend who don’t know what they’re facing and are powerless to stop it. 

Maybe we’ll see the ghosts again. And if they appear, I don’t want to miss them.   

Fight On.