What If This Is the Moment?

A Notre Dame Fan's Journey of Hope, Heartbreak, and the Dream of Finally Reaching the Top

It all started on Thanksgiving weekend in 1986, sitting in my grandfather’s brother’s house in Savannah, Georgia.

Notre Dame was playing USC. The Irish hadn’t had a great season under first-year coach Lou Holtz, 5-6 according to espn, but they were up against the Trojans, a team I’d grown to hate after years of rooting for the Washington Huskies. That year, the Irish weren’t good, but somehow they pulled off a thrilling 38-37 victory. Watching that game, something inside me shifted. Cousin Larry brought a booklet about the University, and by the end of the day, I had decided: I was going to Notre Dame.

Never mind that my undergrad test scores weren’t anywhere near what I needed. Something about that place grabbed hold of me and never let go. Don’t worry, this isn’t a Rudy story. I met him once, and trust me, he’s not all that. He's an ass.

Seven years later, I finally got my chance. In the fall of 1995, I arrived at Notre Dame for grad school, fulfilling a dream that had been simmering since that Thanksgiving weekend. My first game in the stadium was against Northwestern. It should have been a triumphant moment, but instead, it set the tone for the next 29 years.

We lost.

Over the years, I endured the Bob Davie era, an exercise in frustration. Then came Tyrone Willingham, whose promising start gave way to lower mediocrity. Charlie Weis followed, bringing lofty expectations and painful letdowns. And then there was Brian Kelly, who redefined the program in his own way, even bringing us to a Championship game, only to be humbled by Alabama in 2012.

I’ve lived the life of a loyal but long-suffering fan. Season after season, it’s been the same story: hope followed by crushing disappointment. Until now.

This 2024 team has shown remarkable grit, overcoming adversity at every turn. With just one remaining day-one starter on the lines and losing our first-round-talent corner, we’ve fought on. Yet, through it all, they’ve played better, rising to the occasion and fighting for team glory.

Losing to NIU after beating the Aggies felt like the universe telling me once again that I couldn’t have nice things. But these last three weeks? Something feels different. I can’t explain it, but it’s like we’ve turned a corner.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m letting myself dream a little. Maybe it’s ridiculous, maybe it’s setting myself up for heartbreak. But what if—just what if—this time is different? What if this is the moment that makes all the misery worth it?

I know the odds. I’ve done this long enough to understand that we’ll probably lose. That’s the rational voice in my head, the one that’s kept me grounded through decades of disappointment. The one who watched OSU beat the tar out of Oregon. But lately, there’s been another voice—a quieter, stubborn one—that keeps whispering, What if we don’t?

My daughter and I will be there. We’ll be in the stadium.

Sure, the seats will be terrible—way up in the nosebleeds, squinting just to see the players. But none of that matters. What matters is that we’ll be there, breathing the same air, soaking in the energy of the crowd, and living every second of whatever unfolds.

Hope is fragile. It’s fleeting. But it’s also beautiful.

It’s what gets us through the hard times, the near-misses, and the endless mediocrity. It’s what makes the rare moments of joy so much sweeter. And it’s what will carry my daughter and me into that stadium—ready to cheer, to cry, and to feel, no matter the outcome.

So yeah, we’ll probably lose. But what if we don’t? What if this is the moment?

What if we win and I wasn’t there—could I live with that?

It’s a dangerous thought, one that’s led to heartbreak before. But it’s also the reason we keep showing up. Because sometimes, after all the pain, the dream finally comes true.

And here’s the crazy part: people are actually rooting for Notre Dame now. I mean, what?

After decades of being the team everyone loved to hate, something has shifted. Suddenly, we’re the lovable, gritty underdog, and the world seems to have flipped upside down. Even people who used to mock us are cheering.

Is it the improbability of our story? The coach? The fact that Ohio State might have the least civil fan base in the country? Whatever it is, it feels surreal. After OSU beat Texas, a colleague sent me a text proclaiming "we're all Irish now."

Maybe this is what hope does—it spreads, it inspires, and it makes people believe in something bigger than themselves. And for once, it’s our turn to be part of that.

When I graduated from Notre Dame in 1996, I walked away from campus with the same feeling so many of us carried—that deep pride of being part of something larger than life and connected to our faith. It wasn’t just about football; it was about everything Notre Dame stands for.

From the Golden Dome shining in the sun, to mass in the basilica, to the echoes of the Alma Mater sung with arms linked, there’s a magic to it that never leaves you. It literally changed the course of my life.

But let’s be honest—the football misery followed me starting with that Northwestern game. And for years, being a fan felt more like a test of endurance than a source of joy.

Our biggest moments, it seems, were defined by close losses. USC in 2005 and the “Bush Push” comes to mind. Thirty-one years between New Year’s Six bowl wins, of which I think I’ve attended five or six. Those are the highlights.

Now the improbable has happened. We’ve won the first three games of the new playoff format, and we’re playing for the Natty.

How could I miss this?

Go Irish!