Senior receiver Kerry Meier hauls in a 62-yard touchdown pass from quarterback Todd Reesing against Southern Mississippi. Meier led Kansas with 141 receiving yards with two touchdowns in the Jayhawks' 35-28 victory.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
It’s 8 a.m. on a Saturday and Lawrence begins to rise. Students pry open their eyelids and bite their lips to get out of bed. Alumni gather from afar, congregating with friends and family amongst a vast sea of crimson and blue. Local policemen close off streets, clearing the way for gargantuan buses. Nearby, front yards become lots, advertised by simple signs that say “Parking, $20.” Patios and decks have turned in their usual dormancy for beer pong and banter. With the sight of the stadium as the shepherd, everyone is walking together to one place and one place only. It must be game day.
But it wasn’t always like this. The Kansas football team used to play second fiddle. This used to be just a basketball school. Then a miracle happened and a historically paltry football team won the Orange Bowl. While there has always been a strong following for pigskin in Lawrence, regardless of record, these days something is a little different.
“It’s just a good feeling in the air,” said Conor Taft, Naperville, Ill. freshman.
Mediocrity is now a thing of the past. Instead, head coach Mark Mangino has elevated Kansas football to national prominence with top-tier recruiting and sophisticated game plans. With balanced doses of a graceful aerial assault and a bruising ground game, Kansas’ offense can play with anyone, casually tallying 40 points per game.
Established NFL products such as Aqib Talib, Justin Hartwig and Derek Fine bring external light to the program, and a talented core of Todd Reesing, Jake Sharp, Dezmon Briscoe, Kerry Meier and Darrell Stuckey prove that talent at Kansas has staying power. After all, there is a reason why Kansas is now a constant top 25 force to be reckoned with — this team has skills all over the field.
But as much as everyone loves a winning team, it’s about more than a Reesing comeback or a Briscoe catch that makes game day truly special.
For the fans of the student ghetto, the morning is greeted with an army of fans hiking uphill, ogling the stadium once reaching its peak. Others must sluggishly travel by car or bus to get past the levels of insanity on their way to the game. First, main routes like Mississippi Street are loaded with traffic. Proprietors hover on the sidewalks, holding up signs for parking and cheap tailgate staples. Lights change, but cars trudge along at a snail-like pace. There’s no choice but to take in the surroundings.
Once past the chaos of traffic, fans are instantly submerged in student life on intimate streets, shielded with a canopy of trees and decked houses. Sleepy-eyed students have miraculously become morning people, occupying every available space but the middle of the street with tailgating gear.
“No matter when the game starts, everyone is determined to have as much fun as possible,” said Michel Rousseau, Golden Valley, Minn., senior.
But it’s not exactly typical of college students to force themselves out of bed and beat the gradually rising sun to the streets. They don’t get up because they are told to do so. No, it’s just that it’s a home game today. They get up because there’s too much out there that they can’t miss. Yes, the game’s important. But so is the tailgating.
Look around the stadium’s perimeter and there will undoubtedly be a group of friends huddled on a front porch, chuckling about last night’s excursions, preparing for a game of beer pong.
Continue on the journey and there will be another batch of students clustered on a front yard by an arena of two angled wooden planks, ten feet apart and facing each other. The game is called cornhole and its basic rules are compatible with the drunk and weary. Two teams of two throwers toss bean bags into a hole located toward the top of the slanted timber. Call it tailgate target practice. Onlookers with red cups and hot dogs in hand “ooh” and “ahh” at every fling.
Next to the showdown is an extensive and crammed grill with fire bursting from its mouth. The chef doesn’t look daunted. Outside of the yards, some make their way to the stadium in search of the perfect seat. Others are just thirst-quenching morning guzzlers, roaming like vultures hunting for their prey.
On the hill outside of the stadium, distanced from the drunken youth-infested houses, mammoth white and blue tents encompass friends and families, beer and barbecue. A father and a son are playing catch. A mother and a daughter are sitting in lawn chairs applying ketchup and mustard to their burgers. A stooped old man decked out in KU gear is holding the hand of his granddaughter. Together they stroll down the hill as the old man points left and then right, describing each and every minuscule detail through the lens of an experienced Jayhawk. The young girl’s head bobbles with every point and change of subject as the two approach the glorious stadium together.
As fans make their way into a packed Memorial Stadium, endless lines before vendors selling hot dogs and Coke intersect upward in between the sloping zig-zags of students on their way to their seats. At the top of the stairs, the sun greets their arrival with a blinding glare. Then they regain their vision and look heavenward toward a herd of belligerent blue-shirted students. This is home.
Then the home team dashes onto the field, only to be welcomed by the Jayhawk faithful with a pounding roar of euphoria and anticipation.
The kickoff is seconds away and it’s time for the student section to sound their jingle. Dangling car keys reflect a golden glow from the rays of the sun and chime a familiar song. Kansas kicker Jacob Brandstetter steps into it and blasts the football into the cloudless cyan sky. More than 50,000 heads tilt up and then down, following the ball until it drops into the hands of the opposing return man. This man is now a victim.
The game has begun.
Armed robbers continue to threaten.
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