Reason No. 166 why UC Merced and Merced County need a university football team of their own to root for:
This past Saturday I was privy to one of college's ultimate experiences, next to graduation and sorority serenades: the all-day tailgate, Stanford vs. Notre Dame -- the kind of pigskin pre-party you simply can't find anywhere around here.
This was big-time college football. This was a nationally televised game. This was Heisman hopeful Toby Gerhart versus NFL locks Jimmy Clausen and Golden Tate. This was Kirk Herbstreit and Brent Musberger, two of college football's best chatterboxes. This was Charlie Weis and Jim Harbaugh -- two football names synonymous with the NFL.
This was all you'd imagine a day in The Swamp or the Big House or Death Valley would be -- pride, passion and brats rolled up into 12 hours of football fun.
And this is exactly why a young university like UC Merced should make a successful and competitive football program, whether Division I or II, part of its DNA. Not just its plan.
THE PARKING lot opens shortly after sunrise to a line of RVs, SUVs and pickup trucks so long it disappears into the morning glow.
The attendant's eyes are as big as silver dollars.
As we pull into the parking lot and search for an open space, we feel the stares of Irish eyes. They aren't smiling. Like little green daggers, burning a hole in our red No. 7 jerseys and "Biggest Upset Ever" T-shirts.
It wasn't even 10 yet, and this particular set of Golden Domers were already drinking. We can't wait to catch up.
The horizon is dominated by RVs and flags and plumes of smoke, filling the air with the aroma of barbecue sauce and marinated meat.
Paradise.
It's early, and though we're all still a bit groggy, there's a unique energy coursing through the parking lot.
It's game day -- the last home game of the season and against a team that has been stuck to Stanford's side like a burr, rubbing and eating away at its pleasant feelings.
"I'd rather lose to Cal," a pretty little Stanford grad says, her eyes as stark serious as the red lipstick on her fair complexion.
There's nowhere else in the world these 50,000-plus fans would rather be.
Families sit in folding-chair circles, playing gin rummy. Little kids fling footballs and Frisbees and their little sisters' dolls back and forth.
Famous alumni stand behind red ropes, building cheese and cracker bites from silver platters.
A younger generation of alumni and fans, 20- and 30-somethings, find other flames to gather around: bean-bag toss, beer pong, guacamole dip, the Florida-Florida State game.
Old men wearing relics from another time -- Stanford Indians hats and collared shirts -- sip from wine glasses at a small table. Sitting there, they're the epitome of high society, from the sweaters tied loosely around their necks to the way their legs are crossed over their sockless ankles and tasseled loafers.
You get the impression that for six days every week these two are wound so tight they could burst, pulled taut by portfolios and stocks, power ties, profits and the bottom line.
And then they arrive here, in this dusty tree grove, and unravel like fishing line when the conversation turns to football, the BCS and bathrooms.
"If you find one, send up a smoke signal, would ya?" one says with a chuckle, his cheeks and lips burgandy from the booze -- or maybe the autumn sunshine.
"Yeah, you know how us old men are," the other chimes in. "We can't hold it like we used to."
I smile and continue my search for the restroom. Along the way I run into two fraternity brothers I hadn't seen in years. A pair of Irish fans.
They've got kids now.
So do I.
We talk for a quick sec, but eventually they're chased away by a group of hometown hecklers.
Sissies.
The fun spills over into the game. Stanford wins a shootout with Notre Dame, 45-38. With every score, someone from each section of the stadium is lifted into the air and bench-pressed by those around them.
The higher the score, the more reps. Sounds dangerous, but it's not.
The stars turn out. Clausen throws five touchdowns. Gerhart runs for more than 200 yards and throws a TD pass, too.
After the game, the student section rushes the field, turning the pitch into a swirl of reds and whites.
Players join the Stanford band, which blares the fight song for what seems like an hour.
Every few minutes, the music dies down and the crowd interjects, "5, 6, 7, 8 ... Wooo!" and the song fires up again.
UC MERCED may never play a game quite as big or grand as this.
Like, ever.
But the blueprint and opportunity are there to make our rural campus the hotspot for Saturday home games -- to turn our corner of the Valley into a college town that would make Fresno envious.
Just give us a 50-man roster we can root for. Above-average facilities. And a parking lot we can access after sunrise.
We'll break bread and bottles of wine with old friends and new; ravage the student store for T-shirts and hats; and sponsor the university with our thoughts and actions.
Just do me one favor. When this finally comes to fruition, when college football finally finds its way to UC Merced, will you kindly and clearly mark the bathrooms?
Us old guys can't hold it like we used to.
James Burns is sports editor of the Sun-Star. He can be reached at jburns@mercedsun-star.com.
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