Listen

Listen.

Billy Pilgrim became unstuck in time.

So began the opening to Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, A Children’s Crusade. In a sense I feel like Billy Pilgrim today. I see both the past, the present, and the future.

Yesterday, over thirty vibrant lives were extinguished for no reason. So it goes.

John Irving in The Hotel New Hampshire attempted to tap in to the same emotional stream as Vonnegut when he described the results of a plane that crashed in the ocean. A family dog, “Sorrow,” was among the victims. It turns out that Sorrow was found. Irving described that scene this way, “Sorrow Floats.”

Sorrow visited Virginia Tech yesterday in A. J., in Norris Hall, and across the whole campus, nation, and world. It’s tried to set up residence. It is an unwelcome guest and doesn’t hide. It eats away and tries to erode faith and hope.

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Today as the nation and world watched, Virginia Tech students showed us all how to grieve. That sad, sorrowful lesson has been passed down generation to generation. As humans, we are biologically programmed to deal with sorrow. It happens to all of us. But sorrow so rarely attacks with such a vengeance to so many at once.

So many.

So many.

Yet despite the horror, there is light. We are a strong people. We are a nation of souls all linked together by powerful shared experiences and dreams. I really can’t explain it more than that. However, two years ago I wrote this piece. It’s about an especially painful loss in football to our rival, University of Miami. Reflecting on the loss, I began to analyze why I love Virginia Tech so much. While it describes a football loss, I think it comes as close as I can to describing the coming together of our Hokie Nation.

Why I Care

I had an uneasy feeling all season about the Miami game this year. This feeling only grew as game day approached on the swirling wind of media frenzy. I’d seen this before. As the week wore on, little things just seemed to be “getting out of whack” as Frank (Beamer) and Bud (Foster) predictably say after tough losses. Something was lost last night, and it wasn’t just a football game. Something was also recovered last night, and it wasn’t a loose ball.

Before this glorious season began, I was one of the many who had invested in the football machine- heart, soul, and wallet. While I might have been better advised to take better care of my heart, worship in church instead of on the field of dreams, and invest my cash on my family and their futures, I chose to invest all of these properties on a team playing a game.

My perspective, however, completely changed immediately through a simple, yet very unfortunate accident. One April day earlier this year, I filled out my season ticket form after having improved my Hokie Club standing by another level and set the application aside to add the payment check later. I never remembered to write that check, and the application was tossed away most likely mixed in a pile of junk mail. The whole matter just slipped from my mind. I, in fact, believed I’d receive my new tickets as usual in August. When they never arrived, I investigated and learned of my stupidity, then sank into a foolish depression. Over the past couple of months, I’ve bounced back by redefining what I enjoy and don’t enjoy about the game and university I love.

Much of what I enjoy is hard to describe adequately in print, but I wanted to try anyway. Strolling across a beautiful campus from edge to edge is a treat I relish on game day. I could park closer to the stadium, but I choose to park far away and briskly walk through my past and my child’s future. Usually, I’m joined by my 17 year-old son on these walks, and we share thoughts about the upcoming game while I point out building after building. Sometimes I show him “secret’ places on campus that were important to campus survival for me-like the second floor bathroom in McBryde.-aka. relief station. When you’re walking across campus and have a bladder that likes exercise, a predictable relief station is always important. Sometimes my son and I just fall into a quiet, brisk pace and make a determined crossing. At those times, my thoughts return to times past when I made my way alone to class deep in my own thoughts. I sorted through all the dark, tangled issues that seemed always to silently confront me during my college days, those many years ago.

I love strolling through the parking lots and seeing people having fun. It seems to me, as a grown person who works for a living every day, that older people just don’t have enough fun. I’m more of an observer than a participant in the revelry. In the lots around campus, you’ll find people huddled together telling stories, meeting their new best stranger friend, playing “washers,” “beer pong” or “some kind of bean bag game.” It’s a carnival of sorts with wandering minstrels, bards, and games. You really can’t compare the spreads offered by each happy station. All offer something unique. All are filled with optimism, generosity, and friendliness. One lot has the greatest community block party that I’ve ever witnessed. That’s where a lot of posters here hang out. Another, a bit of a hike from the stadium, is worth the trip just for the relaxed atmosphere and the incredible homebrewed IPA and Belgium Ale. I shall not reveal the exact location of that gem.

Lane stadium is my home. It has always been special to me. When I was younger, I’d sneak in there on dark nights and just sit in the stands on the east side. To me, the stadium seemed somehow to be comforting me. It seemed to listen to my stories. Since those days, Lane has told me many stories: many of triumph and some of inconsolable sadness.

Being an intense fan is something that feeds me. The rush you get when you stand and scream your head off is almost unrivaled. When the crowd rises as one unit and affects the game is heady stuff. Watching the precision marching of the Highty-Tighties and the raw energy of the Marching Virginians amazes me. Seeing players on the field “fly around the ball” thrills me. At times, I want to storm the field during the game and join the team as they attempt to vanquish their opponent. Other times, I’m content to be the sky cam, hovering just over each player’s shoulder.

As VT has grudgingly grown upon the nation’s conscience, though some of what makes VT unique and special has been compromised and lost. VPI isn’t referred to as “The Home of the Fighting Gobblers” much anymore, unless it’s some media hotshot poking fun. In fact VPI isn’t referred to as VPI much anymore. As ticket prices, club membership fees, and demand have escalated beyond the absurd in recent years, the clarion call of the innocent, yet fiery gobbler is heard less and less. I’ve now realized that I really couldn’t have afforded to buy my five tickets this year even if I hadn’t screwed up my application. I’m also thinking that I won’t be in any better shape next year, especially if prices continue to rise.

Most of all, I really dislike the hype. I’ve always thought that VT plays its best football when it has more than a chip on its team shoulder. However, now instead of a chip, we just have dandruff flakes. The monster that feeds us all and the university is also the monster that has corrupted certain parts of our soul. I view the talking heads as more of burbling leeches these days. I wish we could just pluck them off, toss them away, and heal ourselves naturally. They make our players look for lights and cause our coaches to act giddy. Yes, I know that it all goes with the territory, but maybe I just don’t like the country that territory goes through.

Unexpectedly, I felt that the people sitting in my section finally bonded. In previous games, I felt we were all trying hard to learn how to behave around each other. Instead of family members, we all felt like the strangers that outside our Neverland we were. However, at the Miami game, some stood and cheered. Some sat and screamed. I didn’t observe one person yelling at anyone else to sit down. We were of one purpose. We became a family last night. In many respects, the team wasted us.

Last night, somewhere in the third quarter something happened that I didn’t expect. The realization began to dawn on almost everyone that this game was most likely out of reach. My wife told me this morning that on television during the game, the crowd got noticeably quiet and contemplative. However, beyond my most hopeful expectation, the crowd returned to the game and seemed to find new purpose and new passion-a return to an older, deeper way of being a fan. Instead of bailing on the game and leaving the stadium, sulking away like wet cats from a bath, we mostly stayed and rallied. The crowd noise swelled with supportive cheers. When the ordeal was completed, instead of leaving right away, more than the usual number of fans stayed behind and cheered as the team headed from the locker room to the tunnel. Neverland is alive around Blacksburg.

I stood just outside the center of Lane for “The Walk” last night. To my west, a crescent moon ascended by Venus slowly drifted behind the horizon in the golden crystal sky. Behind me, Lane loomed over my shoulder. For some reason as the walk was winding down, I turned and was struck by what I saw on that stadium. A light. A lonely light in one of the new turrets had been left on. It shined out across the darkening sky as a warning. I thought of the Old North Church Tower at the beginning of the Revolution. “One if by land, two if by sea.” It occurred to me since I saw the warning light, that the first shots of our war began last night. While the team may have lost the battle, the Nation proved that there is something intangible that only surfaces when times are the toughest- a special spirit and respectful pride.

That was just a game. The opponent this time is more than a rival; it’s a timeless enemy. It’s an opponent that challenges us all to reach for an even greater bond.

Nikki Giovanni, Virginia Tech poet, ended her most amazing comments at the convocation broadcast around the world this way,

"Through our blood and tears, through all this sadness ... we are Virginia Tech."

The crowd responded by rising to their feet and shouting in unison, “Let’s go Hokies!”