Surprising Spirit

As this past April slid by and the deadline for my final college choice approached, the intensity of the decision that faced me only increased. After many hours of thought and many days of visits, I had reduced my options to Princeton and the University of Notre Dame. When I describe the difficulty of this choice to friends, they usually reward me with the same quizzical and often concerned expressions that characterized my parents' reaction. The question, either stated or left implied, was always: Brandon, how can you pass up Princeton?

For me, the college selection process was about finding the right fit. Notre Dame seemed to be an institution that concerned itself with the maturation of the entire person, rather than simply focusing on the intellect. The pride and excitement surrounding athletic events was spectacular, and the appreciation for spirituality was refreshing to someone who is not particularly pious but has a profound respect for faith. But after April Hosting weekend I announced, much to the relief of my parents, that Princeton was truly impossible to resist.

I was still concerned, though, that Princeton would be a community dedicated solely to the intellectual growth of its students, eschewing such pursuits as spirituality and athleticism. The first source of uneasiness has not been completely vanquished, though a spectacular freshman seminar on Fyodor Dostoevsky has somewhat ameliorated that fear. Anyway, at the time of writing I am still too excited by recent athletic developments to deal with such trivialities as the existence of God.

Before my arrival here, I was consistently chided by a Nittany Lion in my family about the quality of and passion for football that I would experience at an Ivy League institution. I smiled and brushed it off but had inner qualms about living for four years in a collegiate community devoid of the rapturous excitement that accompanies true school spirit. It was with this cynical attitude that I attended the Brown game during Parents' Weekend. The attendance was less than spectacular and the experience less than dazzling, but the success of the team encouraged me.

The next week Harvard came to town amid a perfect storm of circumstances. Both teams were undefeated. Princeton had just surpassed its northern rival in the academic rankings. And it was Harvard — the most universally loathed institution of the Ivy cohort. As the game remained close well into the fourth quarter, the tension in the stadium and the passion among the fans steadily mounted. One Jeff Terrell '07 touchdown, two great defensive interceptions and several spontaneous embraces among friends later, the only "veritas" was that Princeton won and that, of course, Harvard sucked.

At the time, I described the Harvard-Princeton game as my most exciting live football experience, even surpassing the Pittsburgh Steelers' 2004 Halloween night victory over the unbeaten New England Patriots. A few weeks later, though, I found myself standing patiently in line in Frist to purchase a ticket simply labeled "Yale Bus."

The trip did not begin auspiciously. Our bus' air conditioning operated at its leisure, my turkey hoagie was missing its namesake ingredient and New Haven, well, enough said. None of this, however, could dismantle my excitement at the sheer number of Princeton undergrads that sacrificed a precious Saturday to support their team. The official figure was 700, but I still contend that only a four-digit number could fill such a significant portion of the Yale Bowl.

Those Princeton faithful, however, would have been meaningless if they had remained passive observers. Not only did the Princeton football team defeat Yale's, but the Princeton fans defeated Yale's. Our chants were louder and more unified and our consistent, play-byplay passion contrasted with that of our counterparts, which flared only when a score was imminent. Nothing was more gratifying than the acknowledgement that we received from appreciative players on the sideline, letting us know that we were making a difference. And when Terrell completed a 57-yard touchdown pass on the first play of a fourth quarter drive, both my voice and my breath had abandoned me, permitting only a bewildered expression of true rapturous excitement.

And then we took the field — a collegiate tradition in which I never foresaw taking part at a place like Princeton. But there we were, standing on the massive blue "Y," singing "Old Nassau."

One week later, Dartmouth was vanquished, and the Ivy League championship, for the first time in over a decade, was ours.

I still love Notre Dame and continue to actively follow the exploits of their vaunted football program. But I do not, and cannot, regret my decision. Brandon McGinley is a freshman from Pittsburgh, Pa. He may be reached at bmcginle@princeton.edu.