When you’re a football player for the Miami Hurricanes, you have swagger, attitude, bravado, thugness, and quite possibly, a criminal record.
When you’re a fan of the football players for the Miami Hurricanes, you carry that same attitude, even though all you’ve ever done to deserve it is buy a ticket and rock a 'Canes bandanna.
In Tallahassee, Fla., on Labor Day night, at the charming Doak Campbell Stadium, my swagger turned to stagger. The Florida State Seminoles, occupants of Miami’s woodshed the past six meetings, finally beat the Hurricanes.
I was the unfortunate one to see it happen. LIVE! I had to turn my ’Canes visor to the front and stop wearing it upside down. Suddenly, I would rather be dining with an ex-girlfriend than be enjoying my fantastic seat in Row 13 in the end zone, compliments of Hurricane fan friend Fletcher and family.
Watching the replay of Brian Monroe butterfingering the snap on a game-tying field goal attempt on the big FSU screen was brutal enough. Then having to hear it from roughly 80,000 crazed Seminolians made life more painful than those two minutes in the car when all your preset radio stations go to commercials.
The ’Canes had driven the ball from their 3-yard line to the Seminoles’ 2 in about nine minutes under rookie QB Kyle Wright. Moronics then took hold. So inept was the play calling from coach Larry Coker and offensive coordinator Dan Werner, I can’t bring myself to repeat it.
Let’s just say if you’re ever searching for a good way to waste nine minutes, drop them an e-mail for suggestions.
Upon the shanking of the snap, the FSU fans began chanting some unflattering things at Miami fans. I’ve been to a few Yankees-Red Sox games, but nothing prepared me for this berating. Masses and hoardes, cloaked in their garnet and gold, spewing venom. Chanting. Screaming. Chopping. And they don’t even sell alcohol inside the stadium!
The best thing I could do was make fun of Seminole fan acquaintance Kevin, who had the stroke of good fortune to have a sister on the golf team get him the tickets. (However, he must have stolen her stuffed animals once too many times as a child because she got him seats in the 'Canes section.)
I’ve been booed at Yankee Stadium. I’ve been snubbed by Jeremy Shockey. I’ve been glared at by Jose Offerman – freaking Jose Offerman! – but how does one respond when an entire city revolts against you?
If you’re a ’Canes fan, you walk out with your head held high, your hat to the back, your shorts sagging just a bit. And you curse back!
Then, you just pray you'll make it to your car without medical supervision.