There are few things in the world I feel more passionately about than football. With the return of the SEC and all the excitement to go with it, I was counting down the last seconds of my Thursday philosophy class (that ended late in the afternoon) until I could go tailgate with my buddies, proudly don my Black-Out attire, and fill the stands of Vanderbilt stadium.
Tick. Tick. Tick. 5:15 pm—welcome back, Game Day. Welcome back.
No doubt, my expectations for Commodore football are riding high this year. No more of that 2-10 nonsense, losing homecoming games to Duke, and students not bothering to make it past the tailgate, with the stands being half-empty by the third quarter. Coach James Franklin has been so intent on changing the culture, and making football adhere to the same standard the rest of Vanderbilt strives for: excellence.
No, this year feels different. All day Thursday, students were high-fiving about the game later. “Black out” wasn’t only the dress code for the game—it was a culture all day. Alcohol related puns aside; I felt the buzz that is so addicting about football season, as if the entire well being of the university was riding on victory.
Come 7:00, I could not believe my eyes—the stadium was already mostly packed, and by the 1st quarter, they were turning freshmen away. Last year, the prospect of there not being enough seats for Vandy freshmen (because upper classmen had made such a commitment to the game) would have seemed laughable to me, but we were rocking and rolling and I was indiscriminately high fiving strangers.
Slowly but surely, however, the enthusiasm seemed to fade as Ole Miss gave us one hell of a game—we went down 10-0 in the first quarter, and my heart sank. Perhaps all this was just hype. I had a flashback fear that Vanderbilt football was on its way to reclaiming its spot in the cellar of the SEC, but the 2nd quarter brought it back. 21 unanswered points by the Commodores reignited Vanderbilt stadium, and to my delight, the stadium was still packed to the rim. “21-10 at half time, baby. I’ll take it,” I cheerfully thought.
At this point, I should pause and warn of what’s coming. For those of you who stayed until the painful end, I apologize in advance for this rehashing. For those of you who did not, fasten your seatbelts.
With 2:00 to go, we found ourselves down 28-25. I admit, shamefully, that I was on my way out of the stadium after a disastrous drive, when we faced a 4th & 18. Jordan Matthews had been puking, Austin Cartyr Samuels had been playing poorly—and the game was over. So it seemed.
On my way towards the gate, I heard a massive cheer about something, and as I returned to the stadium, I texted my sister (also a Vandy grad, also watching the game), “Oh my god.” I once again could not believe my eyes—Matthews snatched a pass to convert on 4th & 18, and a few plays later, Stephen Scheu caught a pass, and went more than 20 yards to the house. Vandy back on top, the stadium was going nuts. “Could it be?,” I thought. “Could we really be this clutch.”
Annndddd, cue heartbreak. Less than 30 seconds later, I watched Jordan Scott take it all….the….way…..back. ESPN College Gameday zoomed in on the students, and, for a third time: disbelief.
Phew. There, I said it. Now that I’m finally calm enough (typing it out is still hard, and it still requires the occasional deep breath), I keep returning to one of my all-time favorite movie lines.
In the beginning of Batman Begins, the young Bruce Wayne tumbles all the way to the bottom of the well on his property where the famous bats live. In a haze he awakes to his father, Thomas, and his butler, Albert. In his British accent, Albert comforts Bruce: “Took quite a fall, didn’t we, Master Bruce?”
And, in a motif that gets repeated throughout the rest of the series, Thomas Wayne, Bruce’s father, teaches him: “And why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up.” Beautiful—it gives me goosebumps every time. And to me, Vandy football and Batman aren’t so different.
Bear with me for a moment—with 2:00 to go, we were on top of the world, like Bruce is on top of the well. Presumably, Bruce was already thinking of returning to his mansion where he would cap off a day of adventuring and fun. As Scheu trotted into the end zone, I was already saddling up for a late night of celebration. More indiscriminate high fives, random singing of the Alma Mater, and the front page of ESPN College Game day.
Before I knew it, we had tumbled into the darkness. The Black Out in the stadium, like the blackout Bruce experiences, suddenly transformed from a wondrous symbol of unity to a dense mass of disappointment—a black hole in the middle of Nashville where everything seemed to slow down as Ole Miss tore victory from the jaws of defeat.
Come to think of it, I wasn’t so far removed from Bruce’s experience at the bottom of the pit.
As I left the stadium, I felt an overwhelming trembling rage building inside me, the like of which I hadn’t felt since I let a similar game slip through my hands while I played football in high school. I remember it so vividly—we had been up 3 TDs at halftime, and somehow let it go. Nothing in the world felt okay—suddenly I was in this sadistic dream where my hopes were constantly raised, only to be crushed once again. As I crossed 25th back towards campus, I texted my sister again: “I promise not to break anything tonight.”
Coming off of that loss, it would be easy for us fans, who packed the stadium, to abandon ship. To Anchor Up, if you will, and sail on in search of more bountiful lands. It would be easy to turn our backs and sigh, “See? I told you. Vandy can’t finish a game,” or write off last season as some sort of anomaly.
I refuse.
In anticipation of Thursday’s showdown, I perused the SEC Blog to see whether ESPN matched my high hopes for Commodore football this season. I stumbled upon an article titled, “Most to Prove in the SEC” that outlined which area of each team was most crucial. For most teams, you’ll notice, it’s a coach. Or a running back. Or a defense.
For Vandy, we have the most to prove. Not “we, the team.” We, the fans. And now, after that loss, it’s truer than ever.
Let us return once again to Gotham, or more specifically, the unidentified pit where Batman has been imprisoned by Bane in The Dark Knight Rises. Forlorn and defeated, one ponders whether the all-powerful Bruce Wayne (the Commodores who crushed Tennessee last season on the way to a dominant victory in the Music City Bowl) might never return. Likewise, it would be easy to consider whether Vandy will crumble at this heartbreaking opener, or whether we will rise to the occasion.
Batman tries over and over to escape the pit, scaling the wall over and over until he reaches the ledge where he must leap over the abyss to the next ledge—where success means to reclaim the light above, and failure means a painful return to the darkness. Recall also that Batman tries and fails numerous times, wearing a safety rope incase he falls. A fall without a rope would mean certain death.
The wise man advises him, though, to take off the rope.
Scaling the wall, rope free, Batman is shadowed by his fellow prisoners: “Ish Ish, assah! Assah!,” they chant. Higher, higher, he climbs until reaching the fateful ledge. A look down, towards certain death, and a look up, towards greatness. And a leap of faith.
Untie the rope, Vanderbilt fans. The whole reason Vandy football has been written off as the doormat of the SEC in the past is a sense of apathy, that we expect us to fail and are surprised when we do not. We have an emotional safety rope on, so that we aren’t oo devastated when we fail to reach that same ledge as Alabama, Georgia, Florida, and other football greats.
We can no longer accept the loss in stride, and continue with our lives. We need to be angry, and we have a duty as Commodores to pack the stadium once more this Saturday.
When you will inevitably be tailgating before Austin Peay, consider this: we, as a fanbase, have a chance to rise. We have a chance to show what a Vanderbilt fan is really made of—your tailgate stickers might say, “[insert Greek letters] loves our ‘Dores!,” but do you? Show us. Show everyone.
Come kickoff, I can tell you where I’ll be. I’ll be in the stands, decked out in Vandy gear, screaming my head off for my boys. Will you?
#AnchorDown.
Take a Shower, Shine Your Shoes 