I don’t know if it was love at first
sight. But one thing is for sure.
The place made a huge impression on me.
About an hour earlier, I set foot in the state of California for the first
time. When you show up for Stanford Law School, with a school year
starting a month or so before the one for the rest of the university, there is
no welcoming committee at SFO. But they do send you a map of the campus,
along with the advice that a cab ride to campus will cost you about $25.
I was cheap and broke, though. [Some things do not change.] I
needed that $25 for football tickets. So I decided to take a bus to The
Farm (though I had no idea anybody called it that at the time).
I had packed up all my worldly possessions into, if my recollection is
correct, two huge suitcases and two cardboard boxes. For those too young
too remember, airplane travel was a bit different in August of 1980. If
you smiled and asked really nicely, the good folks at the ticket counter often
let you put lots of luggage onto the plane.
Getting the stuff from the luggage carousel to the bus was not easy, but I
managed. As I rode that bus getting my first taste of California out the
window as we cruised down El Camino Real, I knew the real challenge was ahead of
me. Based on the map, I decided to get off the bus near Embarcadero
Road. That looked to be the shortest walk, and it would give me a look at
the football stadium as I trekked across campus to Crothers Hall (near the soon
to be departed Meyer Library, for those of you fortunate enough to never have
heard of the law school dorm).
The obvious question is, “How could anybody be stupid enough to try to walk
from El Camino to the center of campus with two suitcases and two big
boxes?” Put more precisely, “How could anybody that stupid ever get
admitted to Stanford Law School?”
In my defense, I did not expect it to be easy. I had done a rough
calculation of the distance from the map the law school sent me.
Unfortunately, my calculations were based on the substantially smaller campuses
that I attended as an undergrad. I knew Stanford would be bigger, but I
had no idea how much bigger.
So there I was, schlepping those four bags to the (very) distant building
that would be my home for the next three years. It must have been quite a
sight. This was the basic system. First, haul the two suit cases about
twenty feet. Then go back to get the boxes and haul them about forty
feet. Then go back and get the two suitcases and haul them forty
feet. Repeat a whole bunch of times. [It was my own version of
leapfrogging, I guess.]
Stupid as I quite obviously am, I quickly figured out just how much work it
was going to be to haul that stuff half way across what turned out to be the
largest campus in the world. Thus, I will never forget my three word first
impression of Leland Stanford Junior University: Oh my God.
Actually, it was more like three sentences. Oh. My. God.
From the very first, Stanford was more than I expected. Much more.
I have a confession to make. Unlike many of my fellow Booties, I did
not grow up dreaming of attending Stanford. Instead, my impression of
Stanford in the late summer of 1980, before I got there, was that it was a
pretty good school. As the above story establishes, I was clueless.
The place amazed me from the start. The people did, too.
[Speaking of the people, it should be noted that I only got about as far as
where the Track House is now before one of my future classmates and his parents
drove by, somehow recognized me as a colleague, and offered me—and, more
importantly, my stuff—a ride. I was already about an hour into the effort
to save that $25, so I accepted their offer despite my parents having told me to
never enter a car with strangers. To this day, that classmate is a close
friend. He and his parents love to tell the story of driving by this
hapless fool hauling suitcases and boxes.]
From that point forward, Stanford has continued to amaze me. I quickly
learned that my days of often being the smartest person in the room were
over. Of course, my grand entrance pretty much established that.
Even with my limited intellect, though, I realized that both the professors and
my colleagues possessed mechanisms (as Crash Davis called the brain in Bull
Durham) unlike any I had seen before.
The sports fan in me also got more than I expected. When I spent a bit
of that preciously guarded $25 to buy a ticket to a game between Stanford and
Tulane, I saw this kid named Elway win the game with a long laser shot caught by
a kid named Margerum.
Unlike so many things in life that fall short of expectations, Stanford has
always exceeded mine. I continue to be amazed that I was allowed to be
part of it. To this day, I get a special kick when I get to tell someone I
am from Stanford. The very word puts a smile on my face.
These days, I don’t get to The Farm very often, because I have returned to
the Midwest (and to a state of being simultaneously broke and cheap). Most
of you spend a lot of time there, cheering on our teams, and, whether you know
it or not, representing far-flung Stanford fans who wish we could join you more
often.
It is a part of human nature for the special to become the commonplace.
So allow me to remind you of something you know, but might occasionally
forget. That is a very special place.
Last weekend, Mrs. MizzouCard and I squeezed the piggy bank, arranged for my
dad to watch the boys, and returned to The Farm for my 25th Law School class
reunion. As we drove up Palm Drive, I had that same spine tingling feeling
I always have on those all-too-rare trips to Palo Alto: Oh.
My. God. This is a special place. How lucky we all are
to be part of it.
It was a glorious weekend to be back. Friday provided the chance to
“run” around campus to get the smell and feel of it again. Saturday gave
us the chance to reconnect with old friends at the reunion and meet (in the
flesh) several of my close buddies here on the Bootleg for the first time at
Lars’ tailgate.
For pure “oh my God,” though, it was hard to top my first trip inside the new
Stanford Stadium. I realize that everybody here knows it already, but I am
going to say it anyway: That place is amazing. As a peripatetic
sports fan, I have been in a whole lot of stadiums and arenas. Our new
stadium beats them all. The seats are comfortable and right on top of the
action. The replay screens have large, bright, sharp images that put most
replay boards to shame. The field itself is stunning. Even the pizza
was the best I have tasted at a sporting event. Once again, Stanford
provided more than I expected.
We have not even gotten to the best part. There I sat, for the second
week in a row, watching Stanford overpower a worthy opponent. Our team has
its flaws, folks, but our guys are T-O-U-G-H. We did not beat Arizona (or
hang with Notre Dame) via the traditional Stanford weapons of trickery and
longshot gambles. We took it to them. Stanford?
Overpowering? Just like the stadium, it was much more than I expected.
Philosophically, I am in the Teejers camp as a Stanford fan. I tend to
be pessimistic in my estimation of Stanford’s chances in the next play, the next
series, the next game, or the next season. With that approach, one can be
pleasantly surprised when the results exceed expectations. Having adopted
that attitude, I really hate to say what I am about to say. Here it is
anyway.
I really like what I see and feel from the Stanford football team. They
have adopted their coach’s toughness, optimism, and, yes, enthusiasm. As
noted above, this is not a team without its flaws. But, try as I might, I
cannot avoid feeling good about the state of Stanford football for the
foreseeable future.
It is more than we expected, isn’t it? And that is a great feeling.
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A Few Random Thoughts
If You Built It, Will They
Come?
All of us who love
Stanford football, from the head coach down to this lowly fan, are disappointed
at the attendance for our home games. At the risk of being accused of
drinking too much koolaid, let me point to a few tiny rays of hope. First,
if you sat on the shady side on Saturday, don’t completely trust what you saw
(or did not see, in terms of fans in the seats). Mrs. MizzouCard and I
started on that side of the field, then moved to the sunny side at halftime
because we were cold. There are a lot more folks on the shady side than
the sunny side. If you want to feel a bit—though admittedly only a
bit—better about the size of the crowd, wander over to the sunny side and look
west. Also, I was encouraged by the size and the enthusiasm (there is that
word again) of the student section. Gostanford1116 and his co-conspirators
are having an effect. Finally, let’s remember that we are still in the
early stages of what we hope will be a revival of Stanford football. We
who are passionate need to be patient for the less passionate to join us.
We need to do everything we can to encourage them, because it is a shame that a
team like this does not have more fan support, but let’s not lose heart too
quickly.
It’s Mini and Me
It should be noted that Stanford
actually won a game that yours truly attended on Saturday. Thus, it is
time to reevaluate the MizzouCard curse. Here are a few recent data
points. Mini and I have attended the basketball regional in Houston, the
softball regional games in College Station, the game against Georgia in the
baseball College World Series, and the football game at Notre Dame. All
losses. Interestingly, during this time span, Mrs. MizzouCard has attended
three Stanford games, the College World Series opening game (with Mini, but not
me) and the homecoming volleyball and football games against Arizona (with me,
but not Mini). All wins. The pattern seems pretty clear: Mrs.
MizzouCard’s presence seems to negate the bad karma provided by her son or her
husband. In addition, she is a lot more fun, a nicer person, and far
better-looking than either of us. Seems to me that we should get her to
games more often. Sadly, she is a fan, but somewhat less passionate about
Stanford sports than her guys. [She did admit to the same “wow, this place
is cool” feeling about being back at The Farm, though.]
Can a Kid Catch a Break?
Speaking of Mini, that rabid
sports fan has had three tough weeks. First he goes to Arrowhead to watch
his then-undefeated Broncos lay an egg against the Chiefs. A week later,
he drives through the night to catch the Boot Train, only to see Stanford’s
comeback fall short against Notre Dame. Then his dad has the audacity to
go to the new Stanford Stadium without him, leaving him to take his grandfather
to see Mizzou lose a home game to Oklahoma State and thereby probably end any
hope of playing for a national championship. The sports gods owe him one
somewhere along the line.
Two Scary Weeks Ahead
Despite my feelings of optimism
about the general direction of Stanford football, I am plenty worried about the
next two weeks. I think we are a better team than UCLA, but they still
have a lot of talent and their coaches, much as I hate to say this, are good at
finding and exploiting the opposition’s weaknesses. That game would do so
much good for the program, so it really gives me the willies. Why would I
worry about Washington State? If you have to ask, you need a bit more
experience as a Stanford fan. Nobody I root for is so good at giving
better teams fits, but I must also admit that we sometimes don’t do as well
against weaker teams. Here’s hoping they will once again exceed my
expectations the next two weeks.