Intimations of Football

Yesterday marked a pleasurable annual event: my Miami Hurricanes tickets came in the mail. Each year, going back to 1987, I always savor their arrival. I take the cardboard tickets out of the envelope, check them for accuracy, spread them on the carpet, and then gleefully roll around on them, like a dog with a dead squirrel. The last thing I don't really do, but I think about it.

My Dad wasn't much of a sports fan, and we never had season tickets for any sporting events. We'd go to the rare Mets or Jets game, and that was it. When I came to UM, I was smitten by the Canes, probably because their rise to greatness paralleled my college and grad school days. More importantly, going to tailgate parties and games was, as my friend Jim noted, the most fun you can have with your pants on.

This year is the first season away from the Orange Bowl. My friends and I have grieved and moved on, and I'm actually excited about the new stadium. I bought Club Seats, which are air conditioned and have waitress service, so I figure that even a few losses will be tolerable with a steady supply of mojitos.

I called my friend Dave about the tickets' arrival. He uses my long term account. Dave's a senior partner at the most important law firm in town. He's a Harvard Law grad (we went to UM undergrad together). I know, because my partner's son is a young associate at his firm, that Dave is in the middle of an enormous case, with hundreds of millions of dollars at stake. Still, Dave and I chatted about the Canes quarterback and linebacker outlook for a solid half hour. Had I been paying for his time, it would have cost me $400!

I then emailed Mike about where our new parking assignments fell. Mike took over tailgate manager duties from his late father Ed. Ed, one of my life's beloved mentors, hosted the parties since the mid 60s! Mike, also a big time lawyer, is already planning the season's festivities. Like his father, he's a tavern keeper first, and lawyer just is his day job.

Barry and Eric, two big shot doctors, will always put aside life saving procedures for their patients to discuss the Canes. Barry's boys are old enough to go to games this year, and he has season tickets, too. Eric's kids have been going since they were babies.

So, the tickets and their parking pass are safely tucked away in my night stand. I'll separate each one from the pack as game day arrives.

I'll hand them to the ticket taker, explaining how wrinked they are because of my joyful carpet rolling.