Heartbreak is never easy.
It’s even worse when you witness it firsthand.
But that’s exactly what I saw occur this last Saturday. Granted, I too suffered some heartbreak, but my attachment may not have been as strong as others.
I traveled to Dallas last Friday to cheer on the football team of my alma mater, Illinois State University, which had made it to the FCS Division I Championship in Frisco, Texas. I had followed the Redbirds throughout the season, so I was already aware of their successes but this was something more.
Not only had our team managed to go a franchise-best 13-1 in the 2014-15 season, but we had attainted something for the first time in school history: We made it to the championship of the FCS playoffs. We crushed the competition left and right during our pursuit, looking better than any major sports team in the state (especially the Bears – we could probably take them on and win).
As I watched them breakaway in the fourth quarter of the semifinals game, even going on to win the game, I knew we had something special. And so, as an alum and proud fan, I immediately bought my ticket to Dallas.
We went in with high hopes. We were the underdog, since North Dakota State University was heading to the championship as a three-time consecutive winner. But we went in with hope.
And with 37 seconds left in the fourth quarter, I saw that hope dash from everyone’s eyes. I could feel it depart their souls, as a deep pass down the field was caught and, on the next drive, turned into a touchdown, putting NDSU up 29-27.
I’ll admit, I wasn’t into our school’s athletic department as much while I was an undergraduate. Our football program was good, but it just didn’t have that spark. This year, we had a full inferno. You could see the love in the fans; those traveling from all parts of the country to see this achievement. You could see the admiration as we cheered our team on as they walked toward the stadium.
As the clock hit zero, I saw fellow alumni reduced to tears. Some had the “shell shock” of the situation still resonating. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.
I think that’s what so mesmerizing about sports; something that didn’t dawn on me until this very moment. You can invest so much into a team – care for them as you would a child; want to see them grow and prosper – that when errors occur, or even losses are sustained, it hits hard.
Don’t get me wrong, being a lifelong Cubs fan, I’m already well aware of the heartbreak. But I’ve never had that full investment as others may have, so I take each losing season as, essentially, an “ugh, well there’s always next year!” (And, I mean, 2015 is supposed to be our year, according to Robert Zemeckis and “Back to the Future Part II”)
But this hit much differently. And I’m still trying to process it. Everyone who ever went to or attends Illinois State has a profound love for that school, so we all feel like we lost.
This has not been made worse by the scores of NDSU fans that have traveled here for this game. We were outnumbered maybe 4-to-1, but I have yet to come across a belligerent fan. At our tailgate, NDSUers came up to us, offered their support and complimented our team. No rivalry here, they were honestly jazzed for the game.
As the underdog, I wanted to loathe them. But I just couldn’t. These folk were generally excited about the game. Not only are we in the same conference, but this was the first time in a while where the championship would be played by two teams in the same conference.
That, and they were just so supportive. Complimenting our team, our tailgate, the fact that some of us came all the way from Chicago to cheer on our team. I’m heartbroken, yes, but not mad in the slightest. At least, not until we end up encountering an inebriated fan who decides to poke the bear once too many.
I do offer my congratulations to the North Dakota State University community on a stellar win. It was a well-fought game. The odds obviously weren’t in our favor, but that had to be one of the most exciting football games I’ve ever seen.
I hope they feel the same way, too.
And, hey, there’s always next year. Maybe I’ll buy my ticket now (as an anticipatory sort of thing).
