All-In [49613]
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Sunday sermon: Not for others, but ourselves
Sep 27, 2015, 10:53 AM
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We'll start with one of my favorite folks in the Bible, Nehemiah: "They which built the wall, they which bare the burdens, let them with one hand continue the work, and with the other hand hold a weapon."
Many, many years ago, in Death Valley, the upper walls were not yet built. The foundation was just being laid. The hands were still building, and the weapon was not yet forged.
That was the last time Notre Dame came to town. To the little backwater burg in the hills to squelch the rural rebellion and hillbilly hopes of a small raucus family called Clemson.
"You Clempson peckerheads know better than to mess with my mighty Notre Dame team. Just bend over and take it like the inbred hillbillies you know you are."
At least that's the feeling you get when you read the missives sent to the ACC from Dan Devine in 1977. They were the words of the haughty, words of a man used to privilege who didn't have the time to coach when bullying seemed the more efficient course.
A man with a very good team and a very bad attitude ... just the kind of foe Clemson LOVES to welcome into the Valley.
Y'all have heard snippets of that week from the Silverbacks, and this week you will hear more. Tales of Devine's letter to the ACC that he expected them to reign in the rowdy Clemsonites. That his Irish would expect proper decorum when they arrived.
They arrived to silence ... a stone-cold unnerving silence, save for the ND band and Lucky Charm swilling fans that somehow found their way through the mountains to our little backwater burg. Even then, Death Valley was every bit as big as their stadium and they had to wonder if, perhaps, they hadn't underestimated the devotion these peckerhead hicks put into their game.
The story of the silence is nothing short of miraculous. After Devine's dismissive missive, a lot of folks in Clemson began making plans to "welcome" the Irish at the old Holiday Inn by calling the rooms, driving through the parking lot with horns blaring, cranking the fire alarms, etc.
President R.C. Edwards would have none of it. But clearly, something had to be done to channel it energy and emotion of the faithful. The suggestion: Why not let Devine think he had won? Let the Irish stroll into Death Valley like the King of Ai before Joshua with nothing to indicated the liquid #### awaiting.
Do nothing. Say nothing. Bottle all the rage and insult ... and wait for the cannon.
It remains a day of days for those who were there. The eerie silence giving was in a concussion of cheers when the cannon went off on top of the hill. In the end, the Tigers weren't quite the euqal of the team that went on to win the national championship that year.
But the legend of Clemson and Death Valley went nationwide that cold November afternoon. And had the Tigers not fumbled, I am convinced Texas would have beaten Penn State for the national title. Or Alabama's win over Ohio State might have given the Tide the title.
Clemson, in a sense, was in a position to play the king-maker. Much like last year, where if we hadn't fumbled in Tallahassee either Baylor or TCU would have been in the playoff.
This year, though, we hold the wall with one hand and a sword in the other ... and we're playing for our own destiny. We fight not to deny Notre Dame, but to advance Clemson. We fight, not as kingmakers but to be king.
This is the battle that we have longed for, lived for since 1977. Our temple is completed, our foundation secure. And if you think Notre Dame is any less self-smug, less "let's beat down these peckerhead hicks and get back to civilization" that that day so many years ago, you're mistaken.
Clemson, to them, is a stepping stone, slightly more interesting than Virginia.
Do YOU think we're only "more interesting than Virginia?" Me neither.
Things are a little bit differnt this time, BB Heads ...
This Saturday evening, in one of the holiest of football's shrines, we will be waiting, one voice, one heart ... one night to raise #### and to turn college football on its ear. This is a blood debt owed by the Irish, and only blood will satisfy it.
It is time to place one hand on the wall and hold tight your sword, Tigers...and listen for the cannon.
It will be glorious.
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