The Rentschler Field Experience

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UConnTicketOn Saturday I was among the record crowd of 42,704 people who attended the football game between Michigan and UConn at Rentschler Field in East Hartford. The game itself was a miserable experience for the Michigan fans, who, incidentally, appeared to make up about half of the crowd outside of the seats in the end zone reserved for the students. Plenty has already been written by others much more knowledgeable than I about the performance of my beloved Wolverines. I have no intention of adding my two cents.

This was my second football game at the Rent. The other occasion was UConn v. Rutgers quite a few years ago. I took my nephew, who was insufficiently dressed for the strong breeze that chilled us in the upper deck. We left in the third quarter, which allowed us to miss both the horrendous experience of trying to escape the parking lot at the end of the game and UConn’s stunning comeback in the last fifteen minutes. My general impression was that UConn fans did not seem to understand college football. A high percentage of the fans appeared to be paying little attention to the game. Instead, they were engaged in the related tasks of consuming beer and mindless conversation. They seemed unaware that they were privileged to view the sacred game of college football. Outside of New England, I knew, people were religious about this game. I was shocked that beer was even sold at the game.

I suspected that in the intervening years UConn and its fans had adapted to the norms and mores of major-college football. I learned on Saturday, however, that the situation had actually deteriorated. The game was held in the evening, which meant that there was plenty of time for even the late-sleepers to tailgate before the kickoff. Many of the fans in our section appeared to have two or three sheets to the wind by the time that they reached the stadium. Needless to say, by the second half, when the Huskies were ahead by two touchdowns, and these fans had made several trips down to the concession area to buy more beer, they had become quite obstreperous.

This boorishness is not, however, my point. It did not surprise me as much as UConn’s general approach to the game. Here are the particulars:

  • The UConn student body was relegated to the end zone. When I was going to school at U-M, tickets for seniors and others with at least four years of tenure started on the 50-yard line.
  • An official began the game by announcing how awesome it was to see a full stadium. He then thanked the Michigan fans for attending. Later someone asked Ray Allen if he ever thought that he would see the day when Michigan came to play UConn. This is unacceptable behavior. The proper attitude is to respect the enemy but to expect to beat him to a pulp. Kowtowing is definitely out.
  • The sound system played very loud rock and roll music throughout the game. What was the point of that? Did someone think that they needed to generate excitement at a college football game>
  • The Jumbotron was a major distraction. Using it to show the results of the “kiss-cam” and, even worse, the “dance-cam”, was beyond intolerable.
  • Speaking of dancing, why was there dancing? UConn’s dance team, which must have fifty girls in it, was on the field three or four times during television timeouts. What was their function?
  • Numerous commercials were broadcast over the sound system. Really? Commercials at a football game?
  • There were small billboards at various locations on the sidelines. I know that these have been commonplace in baseball for decades, but I wonder what ABC, which televised the game, thought about the one promoting CBS (Connecticut Business Systems)
  • Worst of all were the four or five times in which some hapless guy trotted out onto the field and tried to pass or kick to win a Subway sandwich or something. These small contests reminded me of the developmental league basketball game that I attended years ago. I guess that it was OK there, but this was supposedly major-college football. ABC was televising it in prime time! Side shows were not necessary, even if they did generate a little cash.
There was color film back then, but it was expensive.

There was color film back then, but it was expensive.

OK. Maybe I am just getting old. When I was an undergraduate, Michigan had no women in the marching band (“176 marching MEN OF MICHIGAN”), the drum major was a guy who could throw the baton thirty yards in the air, catch it without breaking stride, and then bend backwards to put his head on the ground. Likewise, there were no female cheerleaders. The guys were all on the diving or trampoline team, and they did unbelievable stunts. We had one cheer: “Go Blue!” No one ever asked for a second one. Needless to say, there was no dance team, no Jumbotron, no commercials, no dancing, no contests, and no piped-in music. The band played “The Victors” nine or ten times a game. We sang it as enthusiastically the tenth time as the first.

Football was a serious business. The entire student body (I knew no one who missed a game) marched (none of us had cars) up (and it was definitely uphill) to the stadium for every home game. No booze was consumed before the game, and none was available in the stadium. No one complained; why would you want to dilute the experience with alcohol? The air was electric even when the team was mediocre. It was great.

And another thing: you kids get off of my lawn!

They Tried to Steal my Cat

He is certainly worth $60 to me. Continue reading

I maneuvered my 2007 sapphire-blue Honda Accord coupe into the parking lot behind the Bridge Center. In the vehicle to my right was Mary Petit. She was still there when I had finished gathering up my convention card, mechanical pencil, and coffee mug and headed inside for the Saturday afternoon game. I did not figure out what she was up to for some time.

After the game I went for a 6.5 mile walk along the river. Then Sue and I drove to Wethersfield for some pizza with our friend, Tom Corcoran. He had the television tuned to the Michigan-Notre Dame game, but I quickly changed it to Mythbusters. I never watch the Wolverines. They make me much too nervous. I viewed their games with religious fervor in the seventies and eighties when it seemed as if every important game ended with a missed field goal or an opponent making an impossible catch in the end zone. It used to require hours for me to regain my equilibrium.

After supper and a game of 1965-vintage Careers (before Uranium Mining had been replaced by Sports) we drove home, and I immediately went to bed. At 1:30 I woke up and discovered on the ESPN2 crawl the most welcome news that Michigan had prevailed 41-30.

It was shortly thereafter that they appeared. There were three of them: Sue’s ex-father-in-law, his new wife (whom I had never seen before), and Mary Petit. Well, it wasn’t exactly Mary Petit. She only resembled Mary Petit a little, but I could tell that she had the essence of Mary Petit. The trio was (were?) seated side-by-side on chairs, and they were surrounded by about a dozen dogs and cats. They informed me that my lanky black cat Giacomo now belonged to them. They mentioned something about a change in the law of pet ownership in Enfield, but the details were murky.

At that point I gave chase after Giacomo, who went into a building with a bar shaped like a 3. I had to climb over the bar several times to get him, and on one of those occasions I knocked something to the floor and broke it. Giacomo was, at that point, cornered, and most of my attention was on capturing him without getting sliced to shreds by his exceptional claws (he has double-paws). Over my shoulder I assured the bartender that I would give him all the money that I had with me. However, when I looked in my wallet I discovered that someone had stolen the cash therein. In my search I lay a fat white envelope on the bar within which were sixty twenty-dollar bills that I had received for some stocks that I had sold in order to pay for the addition that we are putting on the house.

The bartender demanded the envelope. I got him to agree to take only $50, but since neither of us had change, I handed over three twenties.

At that point I heard the door to the bedroom open. Shortly thereafter the familiar sound of crunching Purina Cat Cow was audible. The next thing that I knew a big black cat was on my chest asking for affection. I was very glad to oblige him, even if it was 4:42 in the morning.