Before most of your times, John Denver sang, "he was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year," describing how coming to the Rockies made him feel like being born again. Well, I came to Miami in 1984, the summer of my 18th year--a white boy emerging from rural Florida to be born again in the psychedelic kaleidoscope of Miami's international culture--mamasitas dancing to salsa at the Opalocka/Hialeah flea market, Ropa vieja on Calle Ocho, Jamaican patties, Trinidadian Roti, Haitian mamas handing me their babies in the back of the jitney, spring break on South Beach--it was like discovering a whole new world.
And, of course, that was the summer after the Canes shocked the world by beating Nebraska for our first championship, and I went whole hog Miami Hurricanes--tailgating in Little Havana outside the Orange Bowl eating arepas and paying $10 extra for a grassy spot on somebody's front yard, going nuts in the WEZ during a home winning streak 58 games long. Best of times. Wide Right I-III. Butch Davis reviving our glory after a few years of purgatory. Being kings of the world.
Then 20 years of sliding into mediocrity. Taking my boys to the games for years, trying to tell them exactly how great we were and how great it was to be a Miami Hurricane.
V-tech and Notre Dame in 2017 only served to remind me what it felt like to dominate the college football landscape, but it was just a mirage. Always hoping, always disappointed.
College football will never be the same, and because of that, we may never re-live those dynasty years. But right now, when those boys run through the tunnel, it might as well be 1984 all over again, and I'm going to enjoy every second of it.