Clinging to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast
St. John's vs. Bethel
Saturday was Homecoming at St. John’s University, and it was a beautiful fall day–not in the crisp temperature, blue sky, autumn color way; rather it was gray, cold, and misting. But following the two days of solid rain that we had just endured, the sporadic drizzle was a welcome change.
St. John’s, in Collegeville, Minnesota, is the home of the Johnnies, the winningest football program in NCAA Division III, with a 560-224-24 record in 99 seasons. St. John’s is also the home of the winningest coach in the history of college football–at all levels–with a record of 466-125-11 record in 61 seasons, John Gagliardi. If I were a typical sports fan, these would be reason enough to cheer for the Johnnies. After all, it’s easy to cheer for a winner, isn’t it?
I have to admit that I admire John Gagliardi. Not only is his win-loss record the stuff of legend, so is his coaching style. A style called, “Winning With Nos.” No blocking sleds or dummies. No whistles. No tackling in practice. No calling him “Coach;” it’s John. No scholarships. The environment at St. John’s is described as fun with high expectations. There are also no cuts; anyone who wants to play football is allowed to. At home games the Johnnies will have nearly 160 players on the sidelines, out of a student body of roughly 2,000. Again, if I were a typical sports fan, having a legendary coach with legendary methods would be another reason to cheer for the Johnnies.
St. John’s also has an outstanding academic reputation. Eighty-six percent of all incoming freshman go on to graduate; contrast this with a typical university which will have a number around thirty or forty percent. Of football players the number is in the high nineties, and since there are no scholarships, these are true student-athletes. They are playing not because of some dream at a shot at a professional career; they are playing for the love of the game. Yet, again, if I were a typical sports fan, having a sterling academic reputation would be another reason to cheer for the Johnnies.
So, I have said that I am not a typical sports fan multiple times now. I don’t follow baseball, basketball, hockey, or any other sport at any level. I don’t follow professional football. I don’t follow big-time college football. I follow one team in one sport at one level: The St. John’s University Johnnies’ football in the NCAA Division III. And roughly ten weeks in the fall, I am almost obsessed with this one team, one sport, and one level.
Normally, I don’t spend time ruminating on the why of my peculiar behavior of not really liking sports yet being fanatical about the Johnnies, but somehow Saturday set me to pondering. Likely, it was one of those rare moments when a litany of seemingly unrelated things coalesced to form the crystal of insight.
As I already mentioned, the weather in Central Minnesota had been on the gray, wet side for the previous several days. We had been riding the final wave of summer until Thursday when we were struck with a torrent–nearly two inches of steady rain in less than twenty-four hours, followed by a Friday of steady, although less voluminous, additional rain. Saturday’s weather wasn’t awful, and it hinted at a respite.
Normally I am not one to be maudlin about the weather, and, while I was not literally weeping over the gray, I will admit that it really did cast a pall on my already down mood. While I am much better off than the, by some estimates, twenty percent of the US population that is un- or underemployed, I have been looking for a new position for nearly ten months. Working a job I frankly loath while searching for a position has been a draining experience. The leaden skies were heavy, but the prospect of a trip to a Johnnies game, regardless of weather, was a welcome diversion.
Clemens Stadium, where the Johnnies play their home games, is recognized as one the the dream destinations to watch football. In fact, in 1999 Sports Illustrated listed it as one of its top ten stadiums–quite a distinction for a Division III team. Part of the allure of the stadium is the large, festive crowd of loyal Johnnies followers, but for me the more important feature is the natural setting. The stadium is built into a horse-shaped hillside and is surrounded on three sides with a mixture of hardwoods and pine trees. In early October, the colors of the deciduous trees are spectacular. Even in the mist of Saturday, the colors were remarkable. When you walk through the gates and into the stadium the overall effect is of leaving one place and entering another, and on Saturday, the contrast of leaving the gray, muted every day and entering the autumnally hued holiday was particularly striking.
Again, Saturday was Homecoming, and while I didn’t attend St. John’s, the sense of community and festivity was indeed contagious. The stadium was filled with alumni and their families. Outside of football, St. John’s is known for its sense of community and the loyalty of the alumni, and luckily for our family this sense of community is extended to the general populace surrounding the campus. My sons are in the St. John’s Boys’ Choir, and we are members of the St. John’s Arboretum. Normally, I am not one for crowds, but the feel of the crowd Saturday was familial and comforting.
Coming into Saturday’s game, the Johnnies were ranked sixth in the nation and were facing the Bethel Royals from down the road in Arden Hills. In their last three meetings Bethel had come out on top–a fact I had conveniently forgotten until the pre-game announcer on the radio reminded me on the way to the game. I had known the game would be one of the toughest in the conference schedule, but I had not recognized the streak. The visitor bleachers on the far side of the field were full of the Bethel faithful, a reflection of the fact that they really had a chance to beat the Johnnies. There are some games that the Johnnies play that running the clock and keeping score seems like a formality, with the outcome a foregone conclusion, but this game was not to be one of these. This was going to be an exciting game.
And an exciting game it was. The Royals took the lead in the first quarter on a 52-yard flea flicker, and neither team scored again in the first half. Statistically, the two teams were virtually even. The Johnnies have a history of making terrific adjustments at half-time and coming out fast and hard in the third quarter, but that was not to be the case this day. It wasn’t until five seconds into the fourth quarter that either team scored, and this time it was again the Royals.
The Johnnies did not score until there were only 9:25 left in the game. With a touch down and an extra point, the Johnnies were still down by seven. It wasn’t until there were only 2:55 seconds left that any points were earned, and this time it was the Johnnies. The score was now 13-14; the extra point kick would tie the game.
Russel Gliadon’s kick went wide.
Trailing by one point with just over two minutes left in the game, the Johnnies kicked off to the Royals. The Johnnies defense was able to stop the Royals, who went three and out, punting the ball to the Johnnies, who took possession at their own 35-yard line. In nine plays, eating up all but five seconds, the Johnnies marched down to Bethel’s 32-yard line. And the clock was still running.
In the nearly three hours I had spent in the mist, in Clemen’ s Stadium, in the St. John’s community, watching the Johnnies play the Royals, I had not once thought about the world outside the confines of the tree-lined hills. I didn’t worry about my van that is sitting in the driveway and won’t start. I didn’t worry about the yard projects I need to finish before the snow starts falling. I didn’t worry about the pay reduction my employer gave me. I didn’t worry about my career. I didn’t worry about things greater or lesser than these.
And now the game was down to 32 and goal with two deep breaths remaining.
Having tried two unsuccessful deep passes, the Johnnies brought out Russel Gliadon, who had mere moments earlier missed an extra point attempt. It would be a 49-yard field goal attempt.
This, I am coming to find out, is the basis for my odd behavior of disliking sports in general, but being obsessed with Johnnies’ football: It is a game played not by journeyman professionals to feed their lavish lifestyle; it is a game played by average students for the love of the game and a chance to do something exceptional. It is being a part of something bigger than yourself–a chance to belong to community, both for the players and the fans. It is the chance to leave behind, if only for a moment, the world which we allow ourselves to be burdened with. It is the chance to cling to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast, manifest in an impossible field goal attempt by a future accountant, husband, dad, an average person called upon to an extraordinary thing.
The student section of the stadium were the first to charge onto the field. Is was a sea of Johnnie red spilling over the barricades. The announcers were screaming into the PA system that the game was not over yet; there were 2.8 seconds to go, and the Johnnies still had to kick off to the Royals. In the span of under two seconds, when Russel Gliadon kicked what is now a school record 49-yard field goal and placed himself among the immortals of the storied Johnnie football, in that flash of time, a mere blink, hope was rewarded, and all was good in the world.
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Tags: football, Johnnies, SJU
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