Jimmy Johnson's hair was a mess.
I mean, it was all over the place, and he couldn't care less.
This happened long before the perfectly groomed Jimmy joined Howie, Terry and Michael as NFL analysts for Fox, and he still was years away from winning Super Bowls while yelling, "How 'bout them Cowboys?" Instead, way back then, with no brush or comb in sight around the visitors' locker room at Notre Dame Stadium in October 1988, Johnson was the coach of the Miami Hurricanes, and you'd think he was just in the midst of one.
I'll tease with that, and I'll add this: Twenty-eight years ago, when one of these Games of the Century actually became reality, I couldn't breathe for long stretches inside of Notre Dame Stadium. Too much drama. In fact, ESPN will debut its "30 for 30" documentary "Catholics vs Convicts" on Saturday night, telling the story of the most intriguing college football game ever played when you consider everything before, during and after the Fighting Irish survived Miami in the final seconds for a 31-30 victory.
The documentary is splendid, and it covers many things involving the wildest emotions you can imagine surrounding a sporting event. Still, there was so much more about that game, and I'll fill in the gaps that ESPN didn't cover, but let's get a couple of things out of the way. At 8-4 and headed to meet West Virginia in the Russell Athletic Bowl during the end of Mark Richt's first year, this Miami team of promise isn't quite that Miami team of prominence, and here's a bigger contrast: Those 1988 Notre Dame players were the antithesis of this current bunch that is 4-8 and stumbling into the winter without a bowl invitation. In addition, those other Irish players won the school's last national championship after overcoming Miami for the first time in nearly forever.
Which brings us to the gaps: No worries, because I remember every moment of that Miami Week I spent in South Bend, Ind., Notre Dame's home and where I was born and raised. In sum, with the fourth-ranked Irish preparing to battle No. 1-ranked Miami and its Bad Boy image, Notre Dame fans were losing their minds in unprecedented ways. That's because Miami was the Irish's Great Satan. Not only did the Hurricanes rip Notre Dame 133-20 during their four previous meetings, but they did so ruthlessly.
I covered the Hurricanes' 24-0 smashing of the Irish the previous year in Miami, and as the Hurricanes players danced their way from the field to their locker room, Notre Dame wide receiver Tim Brown said after the game between clenched teeth, "They were a million times worse than any team we've faced in terms of their language. They were saying things that you can't print in a family newspaper. They play with no class."
Two years before that, the Hurricanes embarrassed Notre Dame coach Gerry Faust in his farewell game. Despite rolling toward a 58-7 blowout, Miami kept firing bullets into the Notre Dame corpse. Play-action passes. Reverses. Blocked punts. The Hurricanes also spent the steamy evening with multiple blowers on their side of the field, but they provided Notre Dame with only a tiny one that might cool your average closet. You've guessed it. Anybody associated with Miami had zero respect for Notre Dame, and for verification, Hurricanes cornerback Donald Ellis told reporters in south Florida before the 1988 game: "People say 'Notre Dame,' and it's supposed to mean something. I don't see Notre Dame as greater than Toledo or Wisconsin or anybody else. I don't see them any different than Central Florida."
So Catholics vs. Convicts? Well, that was among several T-Shirts I saw around South Bend during what folks on Notre Dame's normally docile campus proclaimed as Hate Week.
"You can't spell scum without UM."
"Jimmy has no (censored)."
"The rush is on. Hate Miami."
Notre Dame students also spent the week sneaking large quantities of oranges from the dining halls. Word was, they planned to shower Miami players with the fruit of their native state after the opening kickoff. When Notre Dame officials discovered as much, they ordered those in charge of the dining halls not to provide oranges on campus until after the game.
Then there was Notre Dame's student newspaper printing Johnson's telephone number and address. More than a few Irish fans proceeded to flood the Miami coach with calls, letters or both.
The content? Don't ask.
Most of the Notre Dame officials I knew back then were terrified, because they had never seen such fanaticism on campus before. Moose Krause, the Irish's former athletic director and a lineman for Notre Dame legendary coach Knute Rockne, tried to downplay the situation. He told me, "When Bear Bryant came to South Bend, he used to call Notre Dame's crowd the best road crowd in the country. We've had so many great rivalries through the years. Army. Southern Cal. Oklahoma. I can go on and on, so I really don't believe that the enthusiasm on campus for this game is anything unusual."
Krause's successors at Notre Dame disagreed. They sought to counter "Hate Week" by posting signs around campus declaring "Spirit Week." They urged students to attend panel discussions such as "Can a university excel in academics and athletics?" and "The role of Christianity in sports." They even invited the Miami baseball team to South Bend for games before the BIG game. Nothing worked to calm the masses, and neither did Lou Holtz issuing T-shirts to his players that said, "Less talk. More play."
Holtz's guys played, but they also talked.
"One friend called from home in New Jersey and said he hasn't slept all week," Notre Dame linebacker Ned Bolcar said back then. "A lot of people are calling. One guy I know called and was crying on the phone. I thought, geez. I don't get excited until Friday night. I told him, 'Don't worry. We'll be ready. Stop crying.'"
Notre Dame defensive end Flash Gordon added, "I've been waiting for this opportunity to play Miami for four years. We've got our crowd, our stadium, our atmosphere. We can't afford to lose to them."
They didn't, but it took a while, starting with the teams brawling in the Notre Dame tunnel during pre-game warmups. Both sides eventually were separated by South Bend cops swinging billy clubs. Then the game began, and there were huge plays on offense and defense throughout before maybe the loudest crowd ever at Notre Dame Stadium, which had hosted a bunch of thrillers since its birth under Rockne in 1930. There were none like this one, though, with Miami scoring a touchdown near the end to trail by one.
I've barely exhaled since Johnson raised his hand back then to tell his players to go for a two-point conversion and the win instead of a tie during those days without overtime in college football. Steve Walsh hadn't been stopped all day along the way to completing 31 of 50 passes for 424 yards and four touchdowns.
But Notre Dame defensive back Pat Terrell knocked the two-point pass away, and bedlam was composed of blue-and-gold noise. While the Irish faithful wouldn't stop screaming, the Notre Dame band never stopped playing. "It's strange, but before, during and after the game, it was like we could feel all of the Irish legends out there," Note Dame defensive tackle Chris Zorich said later, with tears flowing. "I kept hearing those lines from our fight song about 'shaking down the thunder' and 'waking up the echoes."
Oh, I could relate, especially since I grew up with all things Notre Dame deep in my soul, but unlike Zorich, this wasn't my imagination: I could hear "The Victory March" pounding through the ancient walls of the visiting locker room when I entered after maneuvering through giddy Notre Dame folks to get the Hurricanes' reaction to the end of their 36-game regular-season winning streak.
The Hurricanes were defiant in defeat, with Miami running back Cleveland Gary speaking for most of his teammates: "There was no more emotion for us playing against these guys than was for us against anybody else."
Yeah, well. Tell that to Jimmy Johnson, because he was across the way looking disheveled for Jimmy Johnson.
Actually, for anybody.
Not that The Gipper cared.
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