Tradition Times Three
UHND.com - Ronny P. Kaye
June 4, 2001

    The terms tradition and dynasty are used in such cliched fashion nowadays that television commentators often have the gall to label Florida State or Miami or even Florida a "dynastic" program with great "tradition," even though none of the above had  a consistently winning (let alone championship) program prior to the late 1970s. These errors convince me that the overpaid dunces masquerading as sportscasters don't know what a dynasty is, and probably need help defining tradition as well.
    Notre Dame fans don't have a problem recognizing true tradition, of course: ABC might as well rename its ESPN Classics network "Notre Dame Moments". But we ought to define the term dynasty for our lazier history students in the media.
    According to my Webster's, a dynasty is (1) "a succession of rulers of the same line of descent," and/or (2) "a powerful group or family that maintains its position for a considerable time." The key terms are succession in the first definition and considerable in the second. Within this context, Miami comes closest to the definition, having "won" titles under three different coaches. But that took place in a span of approximately fifteen seasons--hardly a time frame that passes for longevity, even in this era of Floridians who can't remember how many votes were cast in an election two weeks previously.
    There are only three clear and irrefutable dynasties in American sports: the New York Yankees, the Montreal Canadiens, and Notre Dame football. Some will argue the Boston Celtics belong in this category (though I favor the Lakers myself, in the NBA), as well as UCLA basketball, and though the former has truly had a succession of successful leaders, it's only been an organization for fifty-odd years, and the latter's unparalleled successes occurred over a brief span of twelve years and under only one leader. The closest thing to Notre Dame in the NFL is the Dallas Cowboys, whose 41-year history is a remarkable catalogue    of success, but here again we have a dominant team not dominant quite long enough to have achieved transcendent status.
    (For the sake of simplicity, we're leaving Brazilian soccer out of the equation, but in a fair rating, they'd belong on any fan's list.)
    What are the criteria in sportsdom that define the Yankees, the Canadiens, and the Irish as true dynasties? You need simply interpolate the dictionary definition of the term into sports iconography: Have these teams experienced championship success under a succession of coaches? Have they dominated for a considerable time? 
    When ABC ran a documentary on just this subject a couple years ago, host Dick Schaap made the point that of the truest dynasties in American sports, Notre Dame's was the most "durable". More durable than those of the Yankees and Canadiens? It's close, but Dick was correct. In my lifetime alone, Notre Dame has been named national champion by at least one official nominating organization nine times, under three different coaches. That doesn't count the earlier twelve titles claimed by Rockne, Layden, and Leahy. And guess what? Jesse Harper was no slouch either. Check out his winning percentage some time.
    So when we hear talk of tradition and dynasties in sports, we think Yankees, Canadiens, and Notre Dame first. All others are contending for second place.   The thrust of this proposition is to present what I believe are the three major components of the Notre Dame tradition--first, fielding invincible teams; second, the "against all odds" defeats of teams thought invincible; and third, being upset by teams that should not have beaten Notre Dame. These are the factors that contribute most to ND's 114-year reign of implacability. But before moving on to those aspects, a pause is in order here to clarify a point that frequently riles Domers, that being the annointment of Lou Holtz as one of the true immortals in the Notre Dame dynastic tradition.
    It's become fashionable to malign Lou as unworthy of inclusion in the pantheon, even though Moose Krause included Lou as one of Notre Dame's
greatest coaches in Moose's book of that title. Some fans feel Dan Devine should rank higher than Lou in the august annals. I have no quarrel with
Devine being identified as a great ND coach --his 1977 and 1978 teams are two of my all-time favorite ND squads. And Lou's detractors legitimately point out that Lou's and Dan's winning percentages were roughly equal. But then some absurdly state that each coach won the same number of national titles--one. Referring once again to The Official 1999 NCAA Football Records Book, we discover that Lou in fact won three titles, in 1988, 1989, and 1993.  Not only that, but he coached a Heisman winner and from 1988-1993 compiled a record that might have been the best stretch in Irish football history, given the quality of competition, the lengths of seasons, and other contemporary impediments not faced by Knute, Frank, or even Ara.
    To wit: from 1988-1993, Lou went 64-9-1 against probably the most formidable array of opponents ND has ever faced. He beat the Big 10 fourteen times in a row. He beat USC six straight and went 4-1-1 against Michigan. He took Miami two out of three. He beat four undefeated teams in bowl games. In five of those six seasons, final records and final polls notwithstanding, Lou's Notre Dame teams were the best in the country when the bowl dust had settled. And we're not even talking about the future NFL Hall of Famers he sent to that level.
    Perhaps many so-called fans chortled when Lou's South Carolina squad went 0-11 in 1999. Where are the laughs now that he's pulled his old trick of tossing his best player off the team the night before his biggest game and gone out and deracinated Ohio State in this year's Citrus Bowl? How sweet is it that he tossed the deplorable John Cooper into the trashbin in so doing?  Sorry, Lou haters--his accomplishments at Notre Dame from 1988-1993 rank right there with anything Knute, Leahy, and Ara ever did.
    Now, what about the three major elements that comprise the Notre Dame dynasty? First, we have the obvious of the unbeatable teams. The 1924, 1929, 1930, 1943, 1946, 1947, 1949, 1966, 1973, and 1988 teams would all be included in any theoretical Top 50 of the all-time greatest college teams.  The greatest college team I've ever seen was the 1972 USC Trojans, but you could make a strong argument for Ara's 1966 squad as Team 1-A. In the early 1970s, Sports Illustrated put out a board-and-dice game that used probability charts to set offenses and defenses. Under the rules of the game, it was impossible to lose if you played with the 1966 Irish. Notice I haven't even included the 1919, 1920, 1953, 1970, 1977, 1989, and 1993 national champions on this list. And who wanted to play the 1992 team on New Year's Day? From Jesse Harper to Knute to Leahy to Ara to Lou, and with Layden, Brennan, and Devine in the mix, Notre Dame's heritage of truly fantastic teams and coaches is incomparable.
    The second element is the Against All Odds aspect, the times when Notre Dame has won games that only the insightful knew they would. These upsets have been perpetrated in championship seasons and in crummy seasons: the 1909 defeat of Michigan; the 1913 and 1927 upsets of Army; the 1935 "Game of the Century" miracle against Ohio State (And just how many "Games of the Millenium" has Notre Dame played in, anyway?); the streak-shattering defeats of Oklahoma in 1957 and Texas in 1971; the fabulous squeakers over Alabama in 1974; the 49-19 annhilation of USC in 1977; the shocking of Pittsburgh in 1983 and LSU in 1984 and 1997; the wipeout of Michigan in 1998. When Notre Dame beat Texas in 1996 on a last-second field goal, Rich Eisen of ESPN subsequently pointed out how Texas shouldn't feel so bummed; after all, he said, "Notre Dame does that to everybody." And they have: Can you think of one regular opponent Notre Dame has not beaten at one time or another on a last-second score or by preventing a last-second score?
    What though the odds...
    The final proof of Notre Dame's unique dynastic status lies in its equally long history of stunning defeats. When most teams lose, it isn't headline material. But when Notre Dame loses in an unexpected, humiliating fashion, it's the story. Rockne took a bashing by letting his assistants lose to Carnegie Tech in 1927. Hunk Anderson never recovered from the 16-14 loss to USC in 1931. Elmer Layden lost to Northwestern the week after beating Ohio State in 1935. Ara   dealt with "loser" labeling after USC gigged his 1964 squad in the season finale. Devine was crucified for losing to Mississippi in 1977. Lou gagged on a 31-7 lead to Tennessee in 1991. Lou's loss to Boston College on the final play of the final game of the 1993 season rates with the 1964, 1970, 1974, 1978, and 1982 losses to USC as the most catastrophic in Notre Dame's post-WWII history.
    Of course, there's always Gerry Faust's 1985 Miami game...
    When you're the greatest of the great, your losses are as big as your wins. Boston College quarterback Scott Mutryn, having lost to Notre Dame in 1998 on what might have been the Irish's most awesome goal-line stand ever, gasped that he was "one yard away from the greatest victory of (his) life."  When the officials stymied Notre Dame in the final seconds of the 1999 Purdue game, QB Drew Brees afterward called it "the greatest victory in Purdue's history." Bob Griese and Leroy Keyes might disagree, but  the point is well-taken: beating Michigan makes you feel good; beating Notre Dame is a triumph you take to the grave. And when that's how your opponents feel, you are the be-all and end-all of your particular field of endeavor.
    A final word on tradition.
    The nicest afternoon for me last fall came on the Saturday Notre Dame visited Rutgers, one of the two schools that competed in the first-ever collegiate football game. Having been held scoreless by Notre Dame in the 20th century, Rutgers finally managed to score against the Irish in the 21st, though they still lost. Prior to that game, I sat on my couch with mild autumn sunlight fltering through the living room (the same living room where I'd paced and fretted in private torment a few weekends earlier while Air Force lined up its last-play-in-regulation field goal attempt), watching the umpteenth collision of Yale and Harvard on a local telecast from Harvard Stadium.
    The broadcast included few if any commercials. The crowd was making noise, but the camera never panned closer than its eyeline from the broadcast booth. The heavily bundled legions in the stands jiggled odd banners and totems. The play on the field was quick and exciting, the players cheering and slapping each other's hands even after botched plays. The commentary was crisp, and viewers were not afflicted with images of morons in war paint waving fingers at the camera. Yale came back to win the game on a back-of-the-end zone snag by their outstanding receiver Eric Johnson with a minute to play. No one appeared to blame Harvard's undersized quarterback for the mistakes he'd made to set up the loss. The game, featuring the Team of the Nineteenth Century and its ancient antagonist, ran about two-and-a-half hours.
    That night, the greatest team in collegiate history beat one of the oldest teams, on a cold evening in New Jersey. That was a day of tradition.
    Play like a champion today.

Ronny P Kaye
kayesell@aol.com

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