“I loved it!” said Mauti, who heard it all. “That’s football. That’s a couple linebackers. You know they loved it, too.”
Immediately after, Fitzgerald was walking on his team’s sideline, through his players. He knew his team and proved it when he said with a grin, to no one in particular, “I shoulda just kicked his ass,” leaving a wave of players laughing in his wake.
“Those guys were getting into it,” quarterback Kain Colter recalled, laughing. “We know the respect they have, but it got us all fired up, and we loved it.”
With thirty seconds left in the half, the Wildcats got their touchdown, their 14–10 lead, and their opponent—who had never trailed at halftime all season—on the verge of collapse. Pull this off, and Northwestern would be 6-0—a record even the national press couldn’t ignore. Talk of their magical 1995 season would surface again.
• • •
I headed to the Horseshoe on another beautiful fall day. The weather each weekend had been almost perfect. But we Midwesterners know it can’t last.
I stopped at the Horseshoe’s north side to see the rotunda, which was modeled after the Pantheon’s—with a twist. Look closely and you’ll see each coffer was painted blue, with a maize flower in the center—about the only scraps of those colors you can find anywhere in Franklin County.
The answer to this mystery goes back to Ohio Stadium’s creation. The Ohioans’ pride in their university and its most famous structure was so great, the university received donations from every one of the state’s eighty-eight counties for its completion.
Although the Buckeyes had already beaten neighbors Ohio Wesleyan and Oberlin in their new home, they saved their dedication game for October 21, 1922—and invited Michigan to be their guests. The gesture reflected the growing rivalry between the schools, soon to surpass Michigan’s rivalries with Chicago and Minnesota.
The Buckeyes went all out on the festivities, which included a twenty-one-gun salute, a “parade of distinguished guests,” and a full house of seventy-two thousand fans. If you want to understand the role college football played in solidifying the relationship between the state university and the students, faculty, alums, and citizens, October 21, 1922, in Columbus, Ohio, is not a bad place to start.
“All walks of life were represented,” Ohio State’s student newspaper, The Lantern, reported, “when leaders came from far and near to pay their respects to the Ohio State University’s new athletic plant.” They were less likely to visit campus to dedicate the new chemistry building.
But what of those yellow flowers and blue squares? Buckeye fan Mike Burkhard, forty-two, waiting outside the landmark for friends, knew the story: The Buckeyes made a friendly wager with the Wolverines. If Michigan beat their hosts—well, you can guess.
The only blight for the Buckeyes on that seemingly perfect day was the outcome: Michigan 19, Ohio State 0. (As Michigan’s Fielding Yost liked to boast, “We put the dead in dedication!”) The temptation to paint over those maize flowers must be great, but in the Horseshoe’s ninety years, to the Buckeyes’ lasting credit, they have never welshed on the wager.
“It’s kinda neat,” Burkhard said. “It shows the respect for the best rivalry in the game. But it sticks in the craw a bit, a constant reminder. But that’s part of the beauty of a great rivalry, too.”
But none of it counts for much if fans stop looking up at the rotunda and forget their history. Institutional memory runs strong at schools like Ohio State, but fans will continue to learn Buckeye history and pass it down only if the team continues to be successful, and fun to watch.
“Tressel was a great coach,” Burkhard said, “but that was boring football. We want to win national titles, and to do that, we have to compete with the SEC. You just can’t do that with smashmouth football anymore—not against a team like Alabama. The Big Ten’s been smacked in the teeth a few times lately. That’s getting old—and needs to stop!”
As we talked, a band of Nebraska fans walked by, one wearing the trademark “Cornhead” hat.
“Bringing in Nebraska was a great move,” Burkhard said. “They’re everything the Big Ten’s about: tradition, respect, good football, great program, and they’re into it.
“That’s the Big Ten. That’s us.”
And that is Ohio State’s challenge: to preserve its rich history and stay connected with its Big Ten brothers, while beating the best of the best down South.
• • •
Fully five hours before kickoff, Buckeye tailgates covered the parking lot, the surrounding fields, and most of Columbus, it seemed. It wasn’t hard to find a tailgate with a big-screen TV to watch the second half of the Northwestern–Penn State game—and, just for standing there, a free bratwurst.
“Every year they get better and better,” Zordich said of Northwestern. With Penn State going into the second half down 14–10, “we knew we had to give them everything we’ve got.”
To open the second half, McGloin handed off to Zach Zwinak six times and passed to him once on a drive that regained the lead, 17–14. But the Wildcats countered with a smooth 11-play drive—requiring only one third-down conversion—then returned a Penn State punt 75 yards for a touchdown, to take a 28–17 lead right before the fourth quarter.
“I honestly felt that was the best game we played all season,” Colter said. “We had great focus, great fundamentals. Very solid.”
“We really thought we were going to beat them,” defensive end Quentin Williams said. “We really did.”
The guys on the other side recognized the threat for what it was. “You could easily see how our team could have said, ‘That’s it. We’re done,’ ” Mauti said.
“When you’re in those situations,” McGloin told me, “if you’re nervous and don’t believe that you’re gonna come back and win the game, how do you expect everyone else to respond? I never thought we were going to lose that game. It didn’t feel like we were down by eleven. That’s what this team’s all about: keep scratching and clawing to the end.”
When McGloin walked into the huddle, with the ball on Penn State’s 18, and his team down 28–17, he looked at his teammates and said, “I love moments like this. This is what makes teams great. We wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Then he proved it, leading his troops on one of their biggest drives of the season, an 18-play masterpiece featuring 7 runs and 2 catches by Zach Zwinak, and 8 for 9 passing by McGloin. They converted four third downs, and when they finally failed on third and goal from the 4, O’Brien went for it.
McGloin responded by hitting Allen Robinson for the touchdown.
O’Brien then decided to go for two. Zordich converted to close Northwestern’s lead to 28–25.
“Then our D just ate ’em up,” Zordich said.
It helped that in that fourth quarter, Penn State’s defense faced their student section, often at close range.
“It got loud,” Mauti said.
“Then it got LOUD loud!” Zordich said.
“You get up after a big play,” Mauti said, “and you point to the crowd, and the response is so immediate, it’s like being a conductor. It’s so loud, your whole body goes numb. It’s like a drug. So intoxicating.”
“That is the best drug you could ever find,” Zordich said. “When you’re on offense, it’s the opposite. You need to get the play in, and they know that, so they’re quiet. But as soon as you run the play, they go, ‘Whoooo!’ And you can hear them.”
And that’s what happened next. After Northwestern bombed the punt down to Penn State’s 14-yard line, the Lions went on a 15-play drive that took 5:38 off the clock.
“You could feel the tension building on every play,” Mauti said.
On fourth and two from Northwestern’s 19-yard line, down 28-25, O’Brien didn’t hesitate to go for it. This thrilled the crowd, which was accustomed to watching the previous staff run quarterback sneaks on third and five.
McGloin didn’t see what he wanted, however, and started scrambling. W
ide receiver Brandon Moseby-Felder recognized the situation, slipped behind his man, and got open for the first down and then some, getting down to the 6-yard line.
“Great instinct play,” Zordich said.
On third and goal from the five, McGloin faked the toss, rolled to the right, then ran full speed to the right corner of the end zone, culminating in a leap that was as ungraceful as it was unnecessary, just inside the right end-zone pylon. “Hey, it got the job done,” he told me with a grin.
Touchdown. With 2:37 left, Penn State had finally taken a 32–28 lead.
“Our defense comes back out, and it’s crazy as hell again!” Mauti said.
With Kain Colter at the controls, however, you could not count the Cardiac ’Cats out. But on fourth down, his pass fell incomplete. Penn State’s ball.
O’Brien knew if they didn’t get another first down, they would give the Wildcats one more shot. On third down, the call went to Zordich, who got around the defensive end on the left side. Then Moseby-Felder made “a great block on the safety and sprung me open,” said Zordich, who bolted down the left sideline. “When you’re running with the ball, you can hear the crowd get louder, yard by yard, and that just gets you going faster.”
The Wildcats collided with him near the end zone, and the refs signaled a touchdown. But upon review, they moved the ball back to the 3. O’Brien ran the same play again, and Zordich bounced his way into the end zone. Northwestern’s 11-point lead had been reversed: 39–28, Penn State.
“That got loud!” Zordich said. “I was excited and screaming and stuff, and it felt like the whole damn team was on top of me. I tried to make my way to the sideline—you’re excited about it, but then you think, ‘I can’t breathe! I’m gonna pass out!’ ”
When the game ended, the players ran straight to the student section to sing the alma mater—which Mauti calls, without irony, “one of the best traditions we’ve started this year.”
If the NCAA can erase thirteen years of victories with the stroke of a pen, why can’t a college team create a tradition in weeks?
Mauti’s father, Rich, stood with the lettermen right behind the team, singing the alma mater. He put his arm around Coach Butler and said, “Hey John, it doesn’t get any better than this.” But Butler didn’t respond. When Rich turned to look at him, he found out why: tears were rolling down his face.
“And that’s why I love this place,” Zordich said. “Coach Butler, he’s only been here for a few months—and I think it just smacked him. The coaches, they care about this place, they love it. They care about us.”
The players rang the victory bell endlessly—a few coaches did, too—then ran into the locker room.
“Man, we just ran a hundred plays on offense against a damn good team,” Mike Farrell told me. “When we needed the ball back in the last quarter, the defense absolutely killed it. The whole team just laid it on the line, and that’s what it took.
“Man, everybody was running in and just jumping around—coaches, too! It wasn’t like you’re a player and you’re a coach and you’re a manager. It was just everybody jumping around. It was just about the guys in the room—like O-B had been preaching throughout the year through all the tough stuff: just us.
“This is the most fun I’ve ever had playing football, and a lot of guys in that room would tell you that.”
Instead of limping to the locker room at 3-3 with more questions than answers, the resurgent Penn Staters were 4-2, on a four-game winning streak, and undefeated in the Big Ten.
• • •
If a college football program can be measured by its press box, then Ohio State is clearly shooting to be the best. The box is part of a $194 million renovation, which they completed in 2001, but they didn’t scrimp on the scribes—which is rare. The food is the best in the Big Ten, featuring first-rate bratwurst, stick-to-your-ribs ribs from City Barbeque, and a McCafé stand where the staff sets out an endless supply of smoothies, frappes, and McFlurrys, all with a smile—and all for free.
When you sit down, the view is—once again—something to savor. But unlike the vistas at Penn State, Northwestern, Notre Dame, or Michigan State—which feature a mix of natural scenery and beautiful buildings—in the Horseshoe all you can see is the Horseshoe. But it’s enough.
You look out at a wall of fans right across from you in the upper deck, wearing scarlet, then to the student end zone, a thick bloodred that glows in the night lights, and it feels like all of them are right on top of you. And when you’re on that field—and I’ve been down there during games—it’s downright intimidating.
The Horseshoe is framed by two sentry towers at the north end zone, and two at the end of the horseshoe. (They don’t make stadiums like this anymore.) Ringing the ’Shoe are the names and numbers of seven of the Buckeyes’ greatest players, five of them Heisman Trophy winners. Then they list their six national titles, five from 1942 to 1970, plus 2002. Last but not least, they reserved a spot to honor Woody Hayes, who won thirteen Big Ten titles, and all but two of those national crowns.
The place makes its point: great things are expected here.
• • •
When a game is hyped this much, it’s not surprising when both teams get off to a skittish start—all defense and punting and fumbles.
Suitably, it was not either team’s offense but Ohio State’s defense that opened the scoring, midway through the first quarter, when Bradley Roby intercepted Taylor Martinez’s pass at midfield and ran it back 41 yards for a 7–0 OSU lead.
But Nebraska responded by finishing the quarter with six first downs to Ohio State’s zero, and two touchdowns. By the end of the half, Martinez had showed the crowd what the preseason buzz was about by generating 24 points.
Buckeye fans might have wondered if their defense was much better than the one that went 6-7 the year before.
“It was a big night game,” Ohio State linebacker Etienne Sabino told me. “Everyone was a little bit too excited and playing outside of ourselves. You do that, and you forget the basics of tackling, and making the plays that come to you.”
Meyer took a longer view. “When we get to the Nebraska game,” he told me, “we’re still not a great team. We’d found ways to win, but we hadn’t put one solid game together yet.”
But if the Buckeyes’ defense couldn’t stop the Huskers in the first half, in the second quarter the Buckeyes’ offense came alive. Led by sophomore Braxton Miller, whose reads, judgment, and accuracy had improved greatly from just a week earlier at Michigan State, Ohio State scored four touchdowns in the second quarter alone, for a 28–24 halftime lead.
It wasn’t great football. It might not have even been very good football. On the two teams’ eight trips to the red zone, they both scored every time. But it was undeniably exciting football, and the crowd was eating it up.
At halftime, the Best Damn Band in the Land put on a dazzling show celebrating, of all things, video games. Hey, they knew their audience. They played their canon, then jumped into an impressive depiction of classic video games, with the band members forming the moving pieces. After running through Pac-Man, Frogger, and Tetris, they finished with Super Mario Bros., topping the castle with an OSU flag, which naturally dropped down and crushed a hapless Michigan banner.
This is the kind of show fans stick around to see—and should.
In the second half, Ohio State’s offense picked up where it left off, and the defense caught up. Martinez could manage only one touchdown—against two more interceptions—while the young Miller showed better poise, skill, and simple ability, racking up four more touchdowns to give his team a comfortable 56–31 lead with 10:27 left.
“For the last three quarters of that game,” Meyer told me, “we played like we were one of the best teams in college football—almost flawless. We ran for four hundred yards, and our quarterback was on fire.
“We kind of got our identity as an offense that second half. We were flopping around before that—but then Carlos [Hyde], Braxto
n, and the O-line starting taking over games.”
Even Zach Boren, the stubborn senior captain, was a convert. “The Nebraska game, that’s when we turned it up,” Boren told me. “That’s when we realized there is something to play for that year.”
Down 56–31 late in the game, the Huskers were done—evidenced by Bo Pelini’s decision to call for screen passes, which is not how you dent a 25-point gap.
But Urban Meyer wasn’t.
With two minutes left in the game—which set a stadium attendance record of 106,102, breaking the mark set by the USC game in 2009—and Ohio State comfortably ahead, Meyer’s offense did not set up in the victory formation to take a knee and kill the clock, but let Carlos Hyde run up the middle a few times to get the first down, then around the end for a 16-yard touchdown to bury the Huskers, 63–38.
Meyer had his scalp.
The reporters, collected near the end zone to run to the postgame press conferences, couldn’t help but chuckle. Meyer had just given Nebraska a little taste of SEC football for the Huskers to enjoy on their long flight home.
• • •
Ohio State holds its postgame press conference in a big, white room under the stands, with bright fluorescent lighting. On this night it was packed with fifty to sixty reporters, maybe more, facing a wooden podium with a plaque on the front:
OHIO STATE
FOOTBALL
Est. 1890
Coach Meyer opened by thanking the crowd. “I never want to let that go without telling the fans, ‘That’s tremendous,’ ” he said, leaving his script. “It’s cool to watch the fans buy in. From the bottom of my heart, I appreciate it.”
In these settings, Meyer stood in contrast to Tressel, who was careful, nice, and polite, but had the knack for saying nothing for twenty minutes. Meyer is unfailingly direct and honest—whether you like it or not.
Fourth and Long: The Fight for the Soul of College Football Page 28