My favorite football memory didn’t take place in a stadium in front of thousands of screaming fans, and it certainly wasn’t televised.  In fact, it went largely unnoticed. 

It occurred on a RecSports field on a far-flung corner of the Notre Dame campus in front of a relatively small group of fans and bystanders.  It involved not Notre Dame’s storied football team, but Lyons Hall’s women’s flag football team, and all of the passion and intensity befitting an NCAA Division I football game.

It was late September, and we were nearly a month into our senior year, facing our first test of the season, a tough Walsh Hall team that had succeeded deep into the playoffs the year before.  We had not been as lucky.  After losing our quarterback and several other key offensive players, we had been forced to move talent around to keep any hope of making the playoffs alive.  The result was that Katy, our best running back/receiver, played quarterback.  This meant we ran the option more than Nebraska, and other defenses quickly figured us out.  We missed the playoffs by one win.  Now, we were looking for redemption. 

As freshmen, we had been part of a team that brought home Lyons Hall’s third straight interhall championship.  Anchored by a ferociously stingy defense, we went undefeated that year, allowing only seven points all season, off an interception returned for a touchdown no less.  Most of us had played bit roles in winning that title and wanted to claim one of our own.  We felt that we had a good chance.

With the previous year’s offensive problems seemingly under control (we had found ourselves a freshman who could throw the ball and outrun tacklers, thereby freeing Katy to resume her role as tailback), we were poised to make a strong showing in our opening game, proving we were once again a power to be reckoned with.  The only concern lay with the defense.  Although the new girls were performing well technically, they lacked the intensity of the upperclassmen.  Passion and intensity, which came to define our defense well before my time, were crucial if we were to contend for the championship.  The freshmen and new sophomores did not seem to grasp that yet.  Having never played a game, they didn’t understand why we practiced so long or spent so much time dissecting and discussing plays. Frankly, we worried that they thought we were crazy and might quit on us.

Afraid of really scaring the new recruits, we had held off on indoctrinating them into the most bizarre part of our defensive tradition.  Our basic defensive package had been christened “Mad Dog” many years before.  Some alcohol-fueled night, someone got the bright idea that the defense should drink from a dog bowl before the game as a show of solidarity.  It quickly took root and became our “thing.”  Ray Lewis has his dance; we had 15 girls clapping and growling and drinking from a dog bowl full of water.  Seeing as our own offense thought we were nuts, our captain Chrissy made the executive decision to keep the ritual a secret until right before kick off. 

As the referees signaled for warm ups to come to an end, we gathered the defense on our sideline, pulled out the bowl and held it reverently before the team like it was the Holy Grail.  We explained what would happen and got several uncertain stares in return.  However, due to the high number of seniors and the beauty of peer pressure, everyone took communion.  As the clapping and stamping and growling grew louder I looked up and Chrissy met my eyes; it was done.  They were one of us now and it was time to prove it on the field.  We broke the huddle and took the field with adrenaline coursing through our veins.

I honestly don’t remember much of the game that followed.  I recall that it was a shutout, I vaguely remember recording a sack, and I’m fairly sure there was an interception or two from our secondary, but the other details are lost to me. 

However, the look in the eyes of the new girls as time expired was unforgettable; they were hooked.  About two hours after the game ended I was back in my room studying when someone knocked on my door.  Five freshmen came spilling into my room, each talking at the top of her lungs.  A girl named Laura finally out shouted the others, explaining how she had spent the last hour on the phone with her dad telling him about the game, the dog bowl, and the “D” was so different, so intense, so much more fun than the offense.  She loved it.  The others quickly agreed and began asking questions about past exploits and talking about how much they couldn’t wait to practice the next day.  Listening to them talk, their eyes wild with excitement, I knew that, regardless of the outcome of the season, something more precious than a championship had already occurred.  Though they’d only played one game, these girls giggling on my floor got it.  They had caught the passion.  They were members of the Lyons Hall defense with our traditions safely instilled in them.  The spirit would live on.