Musings from Arledge: The Good Guys Win an All-Time Great Game

Only in Hollywood.

That was, simply put, one of the five greatest USC football games of all time. It was a game that had all the elements of the best Hollywood blockbusters. You had the hero almost getting overwhelmed at the outset. At 14-0, USC was one play – one fumble, one holding penalty, one dropped pass – from potentially getting blown out. When UCLA intercepted Caleb Williams and, on the first play, Chip Kelly called the beautiful TD pass with Dorian Thompson-Robinson rolling to his left and throwing back to his right to a wide-open tight end … USC’s Cinderella season suddenly looked very much in doubt. 

Then the hero began his steady, difficult fight against the odds. It’s the part of the film where both the hero and the antagonist show their grit and determination, the part where they both elevate themselves and each other by repeatedly showing greatness. USC and UCLA fought last night in a battle that both refused to lose. Both teams left all they had on the field, both fighting for the highest of stakes. And while the offenses dominated, both defenses had players step up and make critical plays to change the momentum and leave the outcome in doubt.

You had the moment screenwriter Blake Snyder calls the Dark Night of the Soul, where everything the hero has worked for seems to be lost. Maverick quitting Top Gun after the death of Goose. Rocky getting dropped by Creed late in the first fight as Mickey yells at him to stay down. It’s the moment when we taste defeat coming for our hero. Last night, USC had dominated UCLA’s defense every single drive since early in the second quarter – and they had to with UCLA’s offense making so many big plays of its own. So when Caleb Williams, for a brief moment showed that he actually is human, and failed to run for a first down when it was wide open, and UCLA finally got a stop and got the ball back with a couple of minutes left – well, let’s all admit, that things seemed very dark indeed. 

And the beauty of that moment of drama is that it echoed one of the most heartbreaking moments in USC football history. It was a repeat of the Texas game. Same field. Same situation. Two-score lead for USC led by a brilliant offense that had been unstoppable drive after drive after drive and, suddenly, after a stop, the walls cave in, and the national championship dreams are destroyed. It felt the same. It felt awful. The panic started to rise. 

And then the hero is rescued – the day is saved! – through the help of someone unexpected, someone with a history of failure, someone unreliable. There is no question that Caleb Williams is the star. He is Indiana Jones. He is James Bond. He is Batman. He is the most dangerous, most talented quarterback in USC history. He is the best college football player in the country. He is a future NFL star. He is prime Patrick Mahomes playing on Saturdays instead of Sundays. But after a game of utter brilliance, Caleb Williams needed rescuing.

And it came from the most unexpected quarter. Korey Foreman came to USC with overwhelming hype. He has not been what everybody expected him to be. I’m sure he’s not been what Korey Foreman expected him to be. But with everything on the line, with Superman needing rescue, Korey Foreman made the biggest play of the season, and one of the biggest plays in USC history. Korey Foreman became the unexpected hero. And let’s be clear about something: whatever else Korey Foreman does at USC – even if he never makes another play – Korey Foreman will always be remembered, first and foremost, as the hero who vanquished UCLA. He’s the UCLA equivalent of Notre Dame killer Mark Cusano, only this UCLA game is much bigger than Cusano’s games against the Irish. His interception will be shown over and over, year after year, anytime the USC-UCLA series is discussed. Korey Foreman bought a lifetime of redemption last night. Korey Foreman, USC hero. Congrats, kid.

And this script also had the perfect villain. No, I’m sure Dorian Thompson-Robinson is a nice kid. I don’t mean a villain in the real world. And there’s no doubt he’s an extremely talented football player. That’s why, in last night’s script, he was the perfect villain. DTR wanted that game more than anything. When he spoke in the media about hating USC, I don’t doubt he meant it. And in every great story, the villain gets his deserved comeuppance. DTR ran his mouth to the press. He played Broadway Joe before the Super Bowl. And his hubris got him. When you run your mouth, you have to win. He was brilliant for most of the night. He couldn’t be corralled. Running, passing, overcoming an injured hand and, maybe, a concussion. But ultimately he didn’t put 60 points on USC; he put four turnovers in the box score. And he lost his last rivalry game, the biggest, most important one he ever played in. He was brilliant for most of the game. But his legacy will be the other plays.

One final point. This is not the week to talk about defensive struggles. The USC defense was, man-for-man, a giant underdog to UCLA’s offense. The Bruins’ offense has experienced, proven talent all over the place. The offensive line is veteran, big, and good. DTR, Bobo, and Charbonnet have played a ton of football – a lot more than most of USC’s players – and they are a handful. And let’s not forget about Chip Kelly. His time at UCLA has been something of an enigma. But there’s a reason everybody was so excited about his move to UCLA. Chip Kelly is one of the great offensive innovators in college football history. He changed the way college football is played. 

USC’s defense does not have the same experience, talent, or depth. In a game where we knew UCLA would be laser-focused, nobody could really expect USC’s defense to shut down the Bruins. They were always going to move the ball. They were always going to score. There is absolutely nothing that was going to change that. UCLA’s offense is better than UCLA’s defense. That was inescapable. 

What we needed from USC’s defense was fight. Opportunism. To occasionally find a chink in the armor and exploit it. USC’s defense will, in the coming years, have more talent than UCLA’s offense. There will be years to come, probably as soon as next year, when USC should be expected to beat UCLA’s offense because our guys are better. But this was not that year. Complaining about UCLA’s point and yardage totals is to miss the big picture. It would be like watching Rocky beat Clubber Lang and complaining that Rocky wasn’t slipping punches the way Floyd Mayweather does. It would be like complaining that Luke Skywalker didn’t follow the Rebel Alliance’s flight-school training in destroying the Death Star. It would be silly. 

That game was a war with everything on the line. There is only one thing that matters at the end: Did the good guys find a way to win? And they did. It was glorious. It will go in the annals as one of the greatest USC football games of all time, sitting alongside Bush Push and The Comeback.

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So the college football gods either love me or intend to make an example of me. Because, after last night’s Oregon-Utah game, it appears that we have set up the Triumvirate of Arledge Hate: UCLA, Notre Dame, and Oregon in consecutive weeks. This can only end in one of two ways. It ends with a storybook run that places this year’s USC team with this team as one of the truly great comeback squads in college football history, or it ends with a gut punch equal to the 1988 Notre Dame game or the Texas Rose Bowl. 

No, what happens the rest of the way does not change that the trajectory of this program is pointing towards a return to elite status. Alabama, Clemson, Ohio State, and Georgia need to set another place at their table. USC is coming to reclaim its traditional seat. But let’s also not kid ourselves; a loss in either of the next two games would hurt deeply. 

Fortunately, that loss isn’t coming Saturday. (I’ll talk about the championship game next week.) USC will beat Notre Dame. Notre Dame is playing better. They are a worthy opponent. Their physicality will challenge USC. But does anybody really believe the Irish will find a way to stop Caleb Williams? Nope. USC is a team of destiny, and the next head on a spike is that ugly leprechaun’s. Notre Dame will discover for themselves that Caleb Williams isn’t perfect; he’s just unbelievable, eye-poppingly great. 

It’s time for my favorite sporting event of the year, every year. It’s time to beat the Irish. And I can’t wait.

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I wrote a piece on Notre Dame three years ago. It may be my favorite Musings article. My plan was to update it this week and re-publish it from a 2022 perspective. But I’ve decided to leave it alone and offer the 2019 version. It still captures my view of the Irish, my own Irish PTSD, the roller coaster that this series has been over my four decades living and dying with USC football. But, now, it also serves as a nice contrast, a reminder of where we are and where we are going compared to where we were. I hope you enjoy it.

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My father, a pastor, a man of great spiritual understanding, having studied the scriptures all his life, tells me the best part of heaven will be once a year when the Notre Dame football team is sent up from hell to take their annual beating from USC.

I disagree.  I’d rather we play that game away, being that there is little chance that Traveler will “accidentally” stomp that stupid, dancing leprechaun if the game is in heaven, where shocking acts of extreme violence are probably rare.

I’m writing this from the Dublin airport, literally surrounded by Irish, although there is not, at this time, any sign of the fighting variety.  But I know they’re real Irish nonetheless.  It’s 5:30 am.  The beer line stretches out the door.  

A man can be forever affected by the circumstances into which he’s born.  My grandfather grew up in Oklahoma during the dust bowl.  That couldn’t help but affect how he saw the world.  Most of Europe couldn’t deal with Hitler because, having lived through the Great War, it was unimaginable that anyone could even contemplate unleashing such carnage again.  Steve Sarkisian grew up in the Dublin airport.  You’re a product of the world you grow up in. 

I grew up with the Irish and the Streak.  

USC fans who came of age during the Pete Carroll years of dominance — lucky fans, spoiled fans — can’t understand what this means.  Yes, I would occasionally watch USC football with my dad when I was very young.  There weren’t many college games on television then, but I would see some from time to time.  If you asked me what college team I liked, I would have told you USC.  But it wasn’t until 1984, when we moved back to California and I started going to games at the Coliseum, that I began to live and die with USC football every week.  For those of you who know USC football history, you know what this means.  It means that I didn’t see USC beat its biggest rival, didn’t enjoy a single win in the biggest game of the year, for 13 long years.  It was a dark time.  A time of weeping.  A time when injustice ruled the world. 

When you go through something like that, it changes you.  Notre Dame wasn’t just a football team for me.  Notre Dame was the Empire, evil and all-powerful.  Your soul screamed out to resist, but it just seemed impossible.  What can one man do?  How do you take on Darth Vader?  Especially when you’re relying on Ted Tollner or Larry Smith.   

So the losses piled up.  Sometimes they were close; often they were ugly.  Sometimes, like in 1988, they ripped your insides out.  The level of trauma varied by season, but the outcome was always the same, it was always awful, and it always hurt.  And all of the trappings of Notre Dame — the Golden Dome, the fight song, the lunatic in the leprechaun suit with the bad facial hair, the cheerleaders with the bad facial hair — all of it was there to mock us in our pain.  Why couldn’t the earth just open up and swallow the place?  Why were meteors so indifferent to our plight?  How could the world be so cruel as to allow the alma mater of Joseph Goebbels and Lavrenti Beria (true story) to continually bring weeping and suffering to Traveler, to the Song Girls, to the beautiful and innocent children of the world?  How long must we suffer?  How long!?

Then came 1996.  Other than 2005, I don’t know that I’ve ever felt such unrestrained joy at a football game.  It wasn’t pretty.  It wasn’t particularly well played.  It certainly wasn’t a good USC team.  (They had choked away a three-score lead to UCLA just the week before.)  It wasn’t a game that had national championship implications.  But it was beautiful because, finally, gloriously, we found a way to beat those guys.  I no longer had to fear Lou Holtz, a lisping, spitting, troll-descended football genius who, ironically, looked just like an elderly version of the leprechaun mascot after a shave and a visit to the optometrist, and who managed to destroy my life for a weekend (or more) each year.

The guys that followed never had the same power over me.  Bob Davie won some and lost some, but he wasn’t frightening.  Ty Willingham was a stoic baby seal, put on earth to be clubbed mercilessly by Pete Carroll as he betrayed no hint of emotion or understanding.  Big Charlie the Snot Eater, my favorite ND coach, and the best strategist since Napoleon — the schematic advantage is ours! — was an arrogant clown who deserved everything he got, except the tens of millions, I suppose.  And Brian Kelly, all irate and purple-faced, a furious, out-of-control Grimace in need of a straight jacket, is a worthy adversary who has done a nice job resurrecting their program.  But I know he’s not unbeatable.  He’s pretty good, but he’s not Lord Vader.  But still, the pain of those early years remains, as does the streak-caused PTSD.

Sure, we might have a chance this time.  We’ve had a bye, which means we’ve had extra time to do all the things necessary to prepare for a game of this magnitude — to heal, to watch some film, to exchange some hugs, to be complimented on being such a warrior, to hear stories about tackling — all the critical things that can make a difference in a big game.  Still, I know the odds — never tell me the odds! — and I worry.  I worry because this one matters more than the rest.

Occasionally, I hear “USC fans” say that we should stop scheduling the Irish, or that conference games mean more than the Notre Dame game, or that UCLA is our true rival.  Yes, those quotation marks are justified and they will stay until these so-called fans have been rehabilitated.  I’m usually adverse to Cultural Revolution-style re-education camps, but there are matters so important that sometimes you have to set aside even the most important principles.

So let me be clear: there is no game more critical, no game more beautiful, no game more exciting than USC-Notre Dame.  Ever.  It’s always USC-Notre Dame.  Everything else can take its place in line.  

I will be in South Bend this week.  I very rarely miss.  I will be sitting with friends of mine who played for Notre Dame and, sadly, are unashamed and unrepentant.  They’re also likely criminals on the run like most current and former Notre Dame players.  My friends expect to dominate this game, and they will be prepared to taunt me without mercy.  

I fear they may get what they want.  The tables have turned since our own streak of dominance against the Irish, since Pete’s string of 31-point demolitions or the 38-0 shellacking in South Bend or the 2008 game where Notre Dame didn’t get a first down until the fourth quarter.  Now we face a quality ND team — no, probably not a great one, but a good one — and we’re relying on an inexperienced QB in a pass-happy system, on a defense that probably doesn’t match up very well with what ND does — since, you know, Notre Dame sometimes runs outside — and with a coach who, how should we say this, isn’t great on the road.  No, that doesn’t really capture it.  A coach who most weeks couldn’t win on the road even if the game was fixed by the mob, a coach whose Trojans would be an underdog to Fountain Valley High School even if you spotted him 10 points if he had to play it away from the Coliseum.  It is what it is, people.  Somebody told me the odds, and they are long.

Well, boys … I haven’t a thing left to say.  Let’s just hope we play a great game.  I guess we just can’t expect to win ‘em all.  

I’m going to tell you something I’ve kept to myself for years.  None of you ever knew George Tirebiter.  It was long before your time.  But you know what a tradition he is at USC.

And the last thing he said to me — well, he barked it, but his meaning was clear — he said, “Sometime, when the team is up against it — and the breaks are beating the boys — tell them to go out there with all they got and win just one for the Tirebiter.”

“I don’t know where I’ll be then, Rock,” he said, “probably with a bone, maybe chasing a cat, maybe chasing a car, but I’ll know about it, and I’ll be happy.”

Fight On.  Beat the Irish.