I have to admit I cannot remember my first St. John’s football game. I know that it was in the early 1980s, and I know that I was very young, but the exact date escapes me. But I do remember the hillside seats, the long green grass on the field, warm fall sun, the pine trees coming up to the old stone fence around the cinder track, the sea of red taking the field, the monks in their habits at the top of the hill, the taste of the fresh caramel apples from the old white concession stand, and the smell and sight of the smoke drifting out of the concession stand from the brats cooking in the back. Being there then, as now, yielded a sense of comfort, an import of place, that made you a part of it and it a part of you.
Fall Saturdays have seemingly always been a part of my family. My grandfather used to referee (actually, he was the umpire for that crew) Johnnie games as early as the 1960s, and with my grandmother working at the prep school and the athletic department, my father used to roam the sidelines when he was a boy. My mother, the tough farmgirl from Albany, knew her football too. So, while I was growing up St. John’s wasn’t just a place to watch football, it was a boyhood rite of passage—the experience and implant of a memory that lasts a lifetime, and effects you in all aspects of your life. To this day I retain the irrational distaste of the color purple—undoubtedly gleaned from those boyhood Saturdays.
…St. John’s wasn’t just a place to watch football, it was a boyhood rite of passage
When I arrived on campus in fall of 1997, following my father’s path, my world was reshaped yet again by the institution that is Collegeville. The forests, lakes, monastics, professors, and my fellow students continued to expand who I was, and brought forth the innate curiosity and hunger for knowledge that I never truly understood until that time. Throughout the late evenings in The Record office, the mathematics and history departments, the excursions to St. Joseph and the cigars and scotch, the experiences turned me into who I am today. Wherever I go, St. John’s always seems to join me.
Since then, my brothers have followed me to the gates of St. John’s and formed their own trails through the woods—giving me yet more excuses to spend fall Saturdays watching the sea of red take the field. While so much has changed—the wood, cinder and grass has given way to metal, rubber and plastic—the essence remains the same: growing further in life, friendships, and the world by the experience of a pigskin tossed around by the students who will one day become doctors, lawyers, and businessmen—my brothers, my contemporaries, and my friends.
So that is why I tend to say: “The sun always shines on St. John’s football—so Johnnie-up, everybody.”
“Johnniesque” is a practicing attorney in the Twin Cities living in the Como Park neighborhood of Saint Paul. He also volunteers as an assistant football coach at the varsity level.
