This was about the strangest trip to Alliance I’ve ever been on. It was my seventh time at Mount Union, my sixth time at the national semifinals, and this one was decidedly different than the others.

First of all, usually Keith McMillan and I drive together, leaving D.C. far too late on Friday night, not getting much sleep, calling the game and driving back listening to (and singing) the ’80s songs that permeate the airwaves on a Saturday night.

But, of course, this trip did not go down that way. Keith and I don’t live in the same state anymore, so we traveled separately. It was a painfully long drive back to Connecticut. I’ll have to get a second driver or fly the next time I do that.

Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand.
Just like that river twisting through a dusty land.

Usually this trip results in us seeing a blowout. I made the trip solo in 1999, spending the night at the home of Mount Union broadcaster Ric Brienza. Mount Union lost to Rowan in overtime the next day and, for some reason, I have not been offered a bed for the night since. 🙂

Ray Martel and Pat Cummings and I made the trip in 2000: Mount Union 70, Widener 30.
Keith and I went in 2001: Mount Union 35, St. John’s 14
Ray and Keith and I went for a regular season game in 2002: Mount Union 35, John Carroll 16. I did not partake of the semifinal rematch, won by Mount Union 57-19.
Keith and I went in 2003: Mount Union 66, Bridgewater 0
Keith and I went in 2004 as well, for the loss to Mary Hardin-Baylor.

But this trip was none of that. It was a Mount Union win, in a close game.

We’re headed for Venus, and still we stand tall.
Cause maybe they’ve seen us, and welcome us all.

Sometimes I felt like I was witnessing my own final countdown on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in December on the way to and from Alliance. (Best thing about I-80 — it’s not the Turnpike!) My favorite combination — wind, snow, darkness, a twisty road and an old car. No thanks. One year I got directions that took me across the tip of West Virginia just to get off the turnpike sooner, but it wasn’t worth it.

Oh, we’re halfway there. Oh, living on a prayer.

Usually Keith and I are about the last ones out the door from the stadium. In 1999, when I was basically doing the site solo, Ed Barmakian of the Newark Star-Ledger and I baked in the old press box until at least 6 p.m. (Old heat, too, though it sure worked.) Lately it had become a routine to stop for dinner at the Arby’s on the Pennsylvania Turnpike just over the border from Ohio. And usually we pull into the Washington area about 1 a.m.

Everybody tell me have you heard? Pop goes the world.

This time I found out one of our Alliance staples was to be no longer. The Buffalo Wild Wings in town is giving up the franchise name and becoming a generic sports bar. A memorable experience there in 2000 made BW3/Buffalo Wild Wings a staple for D3football.com road trips. And a less than memorable morning after made the Mount Union/Widener game even less bearable.

But it was strange, but good. I enjoyed meeting some more Mount Union fans I hadn’t yet gotten to know. St. John Fisher fans either weren’t in the restaurant or didn’t want to say hi. I won’t hold it against you.

So you better go back to your bars, your temples …
your massage parlors.