Before I get to Saturday’s travesty of a football game, let me tell you a little story. There was once a pudgy little Greek boy from the North Shore of Massachusetts. And this little chubster loved only one thing in the entire world: Boston College football. Each Saturday in fall, he would arise early in the morning, smiling from ear to ear like an idiot, eagerly awaiting another trip to the Heights to watch his favorite team play. He would run downstairs like a kid on Christmas morning, adorned in his little Superfan shirt, and impatiently wait to voyage to Alumni Stadium. His youthful enthusiasm could not be contained. Finally, the car was packed, his family piled in, and he was off to Boston College.
After what seemed like an eternity, his car would roll in past St. Iggy, before coming to its final resting place in the Mod Lot. The second the car was put into park, he would burst out and breath in the scene around him. The crisp September air blew across his face, carrying with it the smells of grilled meat, the sounds of laughter from nearby tailgates, and the sight of a middle-aged man in an eagle hat vomiting next to a port-a-potty. He was in Heaven. Without hesitation, he would run over to the million dollar stairs and cheer on the players as they walked past, often addressing them by name. They were larger than life to this boy. He truly worshipped them as gods.
Soon he found himself heading into the stadium. He and his brother liked to get in an hour early and claim their territory:
An hour later, he watched as the Eagles charged out of the tunnel and onto the field. He stood and cheered because, well, they deserved it. After all, those were the good times. BC was consistently ranked in the top 25, well coached, and often finished atop their division. We were respected in the ACC and had serious NFL-caliber talent, even rising as high as #2 at one point in the national rankings. And this little boy loved every second of it. But as time wore on, and the product on the field began to diminish, so to did his enthusiasm.
It seemed as if BC would always come so close to achieving something great, only to fall just short, and shatter this boy’s dreams. He watched in 2001, as Brian St. Pierre threw a 4th quarter interception at the goal line to lose to top-ranked Miami. He wept in 2007 when the Eagles fell to FSU at home to ruin their undefeated season, he stared in stunned disbelief in 2011 when Nate Freese shanked a 19-yarder off the upright to lose to Duke, and he mentally blocked out something that happened at Yankee Stadium last year. Yet in spite of all of the heartbreak and pain he endured on behalf of Boston College football, he kept holding out hope. Like the stupid, naïve idiot that he was, he kept believing that next year would finally be our year. But next year never came.
Now I’m going to let you in on a little secret. That pudgy, delusional little Greek boy was me. I know, it’s hard to believe; especially when you look at the moderately overweight Greek man that I’ve become. What a transformation. It’s like I was a chubby caterpillar that went into a cacoon, and emerged as a slightly skinnier caterpillar. But I digress.
As I sat in Alumni Stadium for the hundredth odd time this past Saturday and watched as the team I love, the team I’ve given so much of my time and enthusiasm to, the team I’ve cheered for, bled for (fell down playing catch at a tailgate and scraped my arm), and cried for, lose to Wake Forest, WAKE FUCKING FOREST, by a score of 3-0, something inside me shut off. There was no pain, no anger, no sadness, no emotion of any kind. There was nothing. I don’t care any more. I’m done.
Before I go any further and unleash the rant of the millennium on the offense, special teams, and coaching staff, let me make it a point to distinguish the defense from the raging dumpster fire that is Boston College football. To all members of the defense, I’ll still go to war with you boys any day of the week. They played their asses off all game and continued fighting even when the offense continually let them down. On more than one occasion, they came up with a huge play to secure great field position, which our offense then squandered. I’ll get to that in a moment, but a tip of my hat to the entire defense and coordinator Don Brown. You guys are the reason we are even remotely competitive.
Now it’s time for the rant:
HOW THE HELL DO YOU LOSE A FOOTBALL GAME 3-0?!? This isn’t fucking soccer! That was not only the worst football game ever. It was not only the worst sporting event ever. That was the worst event in recorded human history. The NCAA should give our program the death penalty out of mercy. That game was the football embodiment of Murphy’s Law. I don’t have the time, patience, or low enough blood pressure to write out a thoughtful, articulate analysis of this game, so here’s a bunch of hurtful videos and categorized attacks on our team:
Run the ball up the dick one more time Addazio/Fitch. Do it. I dare you. How many times do you have to send your running backs into a wall of defenders before you realize it doesn’t work?! You can’t just do the same thing every time and expect a different result. According to Trill writer and psyche major Mark Bellhorn, that is literally the definition of insanity. Nothing summarizes BC football better than the last sequence of the game. After the defense makes yet another huge play, forcing a fumble with a minute left to get us the ball back, our offense had an opportunity to win the game. But that just wouldn’t be a fitting end to this game. So with the clock running under twenty seconds and no timeouts remaining, guess what play Addazio and Todd Fitch conjured up? If you guessed a run directly up the middle you would be right. And if you guessed that we gained no yards on the play, you would also be right. And if you guessed that we lost because you can’t run the ball with under 20 seconds and expect to get another play off, well then you would be right again. Rutgers spiked the ball on fourth down to lose, and it was still only the second stupidest college football play of the week. Fitch should have been fired on the spot.
Since Addazio can’t seem to make up his mind on who the starting quarterback should be, I’ll do it for him. We just shouldn’t have a quarterback. Let’s just kneel on the ball every single time we have possession and punt. I’m not even joking. We honestly have a better chance of winning that way. The only reason Wake even scored 3 points is because the offense fumbled the ball on our own five, putting them in short field goal territory. It’s not fair to our defense to keep trotting this offense out there, knowing full well that they’re going to commit a crucial turnover that ends up costing us the game. Through 6 games, BC has allowed 43 points. The defense is responsible for 19 of those 43 points. The other 24 were either a direct or indirect result of an offensive or special teams miscue. Think about that for a second. The defense is responsible for less than half of the points that we have allowed! That’s insane. As for the quarterbacks, I really don’t want to have to keep criticizing these guys, but Flutie and Smith just aren’t ready to play Division 1 football yet. I’m not saying they never will be, and both have had their moments, but they really looked awful on Saturday. I’ve been a big proponent of Smith all season, but he has horrible ball control, fumbling on multiple occasions without being hit, and his only real attribute is his speed. As for Flutie, I don’t even know how one manages to fumble on a quarterback sneak. The entire play consists of receiving the snap, moving forward three feet, then falling down. That being said, I can’t sit here and blame them entirely for the offensive woes. They were both thrust into the spotlight before they were ready, and have naturally struggled as a result. Neither Smith nor Flutie should have set foot onto the field for at least 2 years. And the fact of the matter remains that the play calling and offensive system are not conducive to success. But it’s becoming abundantly clear that the offense doesn’t have a clue.
Look, I know better than anyone that I am downright assaulting a dead horse, so I’ll keep this brief. I’m not going to sit here behind my computer screen and berate a freshman walk-on kicker. I can’t even imagine what kind of pressure he must have been under, and God knows I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I honestly feel bad for the kid, it’s a tough situation to be in. But with that being said, there’s no excuse for missing those kicks. A Division 1 college kicker should make a 30 or 24-yard field goal every time. Elsewhere, Sherm looked shaky again returning punts. He has no feel for the job whatsoever, and isn’t reading the punts well. Howell actually had a decent game punting the ball, which was encouraging. Overall, another sloppy game from a special teams unit that has shown no signs of improvement from their disaster of a season last year.
As I conclude, let me be clear that I am in no way severing permanent ties with Boston College football. I will still attend the games. I still am and always will be a Superfan. But I won’t get my hopes up anymore. I just won’t do it. I will no longer encourage BC to “put some points on the board” because I know that in all likelihood, it won’t happen. This team has robbed me of my childhood idealism, and replaced it with a dark, bottomless pit of cynicism. BC football is like a neglectful father. You can’t expect them to ever come through for you and be there when you need them most. And sure, they’ll stop by every now and again with a nice present (USC win), but that only sets you up for further disappointment down the road. At some point, you just have to move on with your life without them. From this point forth, the games are nothing more than an excuse to get intoxicated in front of my family on Saturday mornings.
Side Note: The final paragraph was mostly bullshit. 100% chance that I’m yelling at my television like a psychopath next Saturday night when we go to Death Valley. As much as I try, I’ll never be able to quit this team.
Here are the full highlights for those fortunate enough to miss the game.