Fan Is Fit to Be Tied in a Game of the Name

I have been concerned lately with the names given sports teams; now my expressed animosity toward one of those teams has got me in more trouble than I think I deserve.

In writing about listening to the recent USC-Notre Dame football game on my portable radio in Baja, I volunteered that “I hate the Irish the way I hate mice.” By “the Irish,” of course, I meant nothing more than the Notre Dame football team.

The first intimation that I might be in trouble came from a chance encounter with Jim Murray, our distinguished sports columnist. Murray said, “So you hate the Irish.”

I couldn’t even remember having said it. “Did I say I hated the Irish?!” I asked him.

“In your column. About the USC-Notre Dame football game.”

I assured Murray that I had no hatred for the Irish people; just the Notre Dame football team, as a team. I believe Murray is Irish. In any case, he has always been a Notre Dame fan, which I have never held against him.

Then came the deluge. This letter was the first:

“I have loved you forever. Read everything you ever wrote. Rejoiced over your wonderful family. Searched for your grackle. Laughed out loud--giggled, too. Learned new words. Cried with you over Pearl Harbor. Anguished, when you were ill. Walked through Descanso in a light rain. Loved your dogs. Delighted in Mr. Gomez. AND TODAY YOU SAID, ‘I HATE THE IRISH.’ You have broken my heart.”

It was signed Kathleen Mavourneen O’Petersen. Irisher than that you can’t get.

It is worth recording Ms. O’Petersen’s disenchantment if only to excuse publishing her gracious accolade, now, alas, inoperative.

First, I feel nothing but affection for the Irish as people. They may be sentimental to a fault, as I am, but they are courageous and vivacious, and the language sings with their poetry.

The Irish of Notre Dame are something else. In the first place, they are not Irish. Over the years, there have been more Poles on the Notre Dame football team than Irish. For at least 60 years they have been USC’s bitterest rivals. In the 1930s, when I was a schoolboy, I was so dedicated a fan of USC, so engrossed in that annual contest, that I used to lie on the floor beside our radio and diagram the games. When Notre Dame won I was ill for a week. Yes, I hated them. In the 1930s USC won five games, Notre Dame won four, and one was a tie. Somehow I have never gotten over my emotional involvement with that series.

I think the most satisfying game I have ever seen was the one in 1974, when Notre Dame took a 24-0 lead, only to stand dead in their tracks as the Trojans not only overtook them but went on to win, 55-24.

Other readers were less gracious than Ms. O’Petersen. Wallace Hunt calls me “disingenuous” for saying “I don’t know why” I hate the Irish. “In the 17th Century your Welsh ancestors, led by Oliver Cromwell, gleefully slaughtered thousands of Irish-Catholics. Hatred of the Irish could be your inheritance, culturally and perhaps genetic. Notre Dame is the epitome of attributes Irish and Catholic, hence your aversion to the team.”

Actually, I always hated Oliver Cromwell. He was such a Puritan. Anyway, when Slip Madigan was coaching St. Mary’s in its football days I was a big St. Mary’s fan. Same with Loyola when Don Klosterman was there.

Pat Moran of Burbank extends my indictment to include racial bigotry as well as ethnic and religious bigotry. “You probably don’t like Jews or blacks either.”

I hope my readers will agree that that interpretation of my remark deserves no answer.

It was an Irishman who got me into the newspaper business. Back in 1931 I saw Pat O’Brien as a Chicago newspaper reporter in “The Front Page.” He was brash, garrulous and dedicated to his job. I decided that was what I wanted to be. That’s what I became.

Meanwhile, I hope Ms. O’Petersen writes to say that she has forgiven me. Her silence would crush me. In the words of the poignant ballad that bears her name--

It may be for years, and it may be forever;

Then why are thou silent, thou voice of my heart?