Living a Memory

9-11-89

Perspective:

Living a Memory

It was a pretty good week for Cobber sports. Several of the numerous Cobber teams performed well. But, at least for this week, all other sports on campus took a back seat to the Cobber-Dragon football game, a game that turned out to be a reenactment of an ideal.

The Cobbers edged the Moorhead State Dragons in an almost-timeless setting, football the way we have always wanted to remember it. Having been a part of this particular Dragon-Cobber football opener might have been as close as one can come to actually experiencing what, for most, has become a long-lost memory, even a myth. A college football game seems to have been played played for all the right reasons.

It was not just the weather that lured the nostalgia to the surface last Saturday. But autumn's first crisp chill did nothing to hinder the mood.

As the seven-thousand-or-so fans trundled their way to their seats, the Dragons in their blazing red sweaters to the north stands, the Cobbers in their maroon and gold to the south, one sensed the peacefulness of the event, despite the focus being a game so widely chastised for its violence.

As each set of fans launched into their respective partisan pre-game cheers you could hear the laughter in the crowd, everyone knowing that the opponents were not enemies but merely counterparts in a celebration of life itself.

The potential for sincere bitterness between these two fine schools has been a source of worry to those who have put on this event over the past sixty-nine years.

And, one imagines, there have indeed been a few ugly incidents in the sixty-seven meetings the teams have had over that span. But, at least on this Saturday, such an incident would have seemed preposterously out of place.

An honorable quaintness dominated the mood of this festive ritual. As the players warmed up, like prancing young colts on their stunning carpet of grass, the freshmen Cobber fans sat in near mortal fear of an MSU shutout, an outcome that, by tradition, would condemn them to a third week of attachment to their mandatory golden beanies, headgear which makes them all look like 18-year-old Spankys.

The ageless, for today at least, faculty, staff, and assorted alumni fidgeted in their seats, full of innocent anticipation of the game ahead, with expressions which never betrayed that they had all been through this ritual countless times before. The president of the college, along with his ebullient wife, sat on the benches we call "seats", amidst the other Cobber faithful and all the clatter, spurning, as usual, the remoteness, and relative comfort, of his room in the press box.

A barbershop "quartet" of ten middle-aged men sang the "Star Spangled Banner" as vets from the local American Legion Post presented the flag. Then the drum roll began, the kickoff ensued, and the game commenced.

The young Cobber team, anxious to carve out their own niche in Cobber football history, scored first and early. The freshmen Cobber fans were exuberant, some tossing, others merely waving, the now-hated beanies they had been branded with during their late-August orientation. They, like the Cobber gridders, could now pursue their own identity.

The game progressed in a manner fitting its prelude.

The sense one had of living a myth was sustained.

The untested Cobber quarterback showed a reservoir of poise in his new role as leader. A senior captain, who had previously labored in the shadow of more illustrious elders, was drafted from his position in the defensive backfield and called upon to carry the ball. And he responded in heroic fashion, befitting the day's magical mood, playing both offense and defense like the ancient heroes of football lore.

The Cobbers surged ahead, only to have the persistent Dragons resurrect their cause and challenge for the lead. But quirky fate dashed their hopes, as one gallant Cobber after another came to the rescue of the home team.

As these young men played out their unscripted drama on the field, spicing it with acts of both courage and endearing frailty, the crowd began to realize they were a part of a truly special day. They sensed they were watching, and being part of, a treasure, football being played by kids who played just because it was fun, rival coaches who schemed all winter to beat each other while remaining cherished friends, and boisterous fans who ached to see their team win while knowing, ultimately, that who "won" and who "lost" mattered hardly at all.

It was indeed a day to wallow in healthy nostalgia.

These pages are maintained by Jerry Pyle pyle@cord.edu. These articles are copyrighted © and may not be published or reproduced without the express permission of Jerry Pyle.

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