Trares
Champions.
For the first time in 10 years, I was basking in the aura of a championship. Months of hard work, the ups and downs of a full season of football, arguably the worst loss you could imagine — all of it led to this moment.
None of those challenges were overcome by me, mind you. But as a fan, I felt like part of it.
I need apologize in advance and offer a disclaimer: This week’s column is an ode to my favorite team, the Ohio State Buckeyes.
Buckeye football is a birthright if you grow up in Ohio. I was taught at a very young age to root for the local team; my fandom was passed down through my family, who would gather and watch the Scarlet and Gray on Saturdays.
But the late ’80s and basically all of the ’90s were a rough time to root for Ohio State, especially in Toledo, situated right on the border with hated Michigan. There were just as many maize-and-blue “M” flags hanging from porches as there were Block O banners. More than half my classmates at my Catholic school rooted for the Wolverines, and never passed up an opportunity to let me hear about it.
And hear about it did. It seemed every November, the Buckeyes would find increasingly painful ways to lose to their rival up north.
But my fandom never waned; instead, it grew, leading to the magical 2002 National Championship year. I was in front of the TV for every game — even now, I can tell you where I was during each of that year’s 14 victories. I was in Columbus for the tense Michigan game at Ohio Stadium that clinched the team an appearance in the championship game.
Despite facing the juggernaut Miami Hurricanes, a team laden with future pros who hadn’t lost for 34 games, I was back in Toledo celebrating with my friends and seemingly everyone else as the confetti fell after the Buckeye victory.
That was the first championship I’d ever seen a team I root for win, and I was hooked. Now, every year, I expected Ohio State to compete for the title — which led to some toddler-esque outbursts when things didn’t go right. My mom still prefers not to watch the games with me, even if I’ve matured (a little.)
Then, a second magical season came. The 2014 Ohio State team lost their second game of the season, and it wasn’t even close. It seemed like it would be a lost year. But those Buckeyes grew with each win, getting better and more cohesive every time I watched them. Then made their way into the inaugural four-team playoff, vanquished a good Alabama team and clinched their second title in my lifetime against Oregon.
That win was special for an even greater reason. My wife and I learned in the middle of it that we would be parents to a little boy. Soon, I’d have my own son to carry on the Ohio State fandom.
Anthony has become my game day buddy, making signs, putting on his Buckeye gear, and always ready with a high five after something good happens.
Throughout this entire season, he has been by my side. We cheered as the team racked up wins. He suffered with me when they lost to Oregon, and then when the team inexplicitly lost to Michigan (again.) Spirits were low, even if Ohio State made the field for the first year of the new 12-team playoff.
Still, the beauty of sports are its unpredictability. Right before Christmas, Ohio State demolished Tennessee. Then on New Year’s Day, they avenged that Oregon loss with another blowout win.
On a cold January Friday night, Anthony and I sat together watching the Buckeyes grit out a win against Texas. The stage was set for Monday’s national title tilt against none other than Notre Dame.
Once again, we sat in our living room, hoping to see history. Anthony made a pennant to wave as we watched the game. We groaned as Notre Dame scored first, then celebrated as Ohio State matched the score then built a solid lead.
Anthony went to bed before the game was over (it was a school night, after all.) But he was with me in spirit as, for the third time in my life, confetti fell on a championship Buckeye team.
The next day, I regaled him with all of the details. He looked at me a little bit like I was crazy, but he tried to match my excitement.
This is a season I’ll never forget, and I hope he never does either. Winning is great, but it doesn’t beat sharing in something you’re passionate about with your child, and seeing that passion blossom in him.
The offseason will be a long one. But the memories of this year will keep both Anthony and I satisfied until kickoff again in August.
Ryan Trares is a senior reporter and columnist for the Daily Journal. Send comments to editorial@therepublic.com.
