“We won! We won! Holy crap! I can’t believe it. We Won!”

This was a text I sent out to a friend of mine as I rode home from Dolphin Stadium. This jubilation was the culmination of multiple aspects of the weekend (others being the 10 bourbon and cokes and my friend Dan’s bachelor party).

The only thing that challenged to bring my happiness down were the classless Miami fans.

The game was not as close as the score made it out to be. The Noles controlled the football on offense and defense—notice I did not say “special teams.”

Jimbo called a great game. Mickey had the defense ready. Our quarterback grew up and played the best game of his short career, and Antone Smith had a second game where he looked like a pro.

Starting the game, I had a sense of nervousness. I did not think we were going to lose, but I did not think we were going to win.

How is that? I didn’t think the Noles were gonna win the game, but everything in my heart would not consider the possibility of the Canes winning a game where I was in attendance on the road.

I‘ve been in that stadium for two bowl games, and we lost both (one on my birthday). The fact that I could be there again while a slumping Miami team was gonna beat a surging Florida State team was more than I could handle.

I walked in and sat down...in the Miami alumni section. Did I mention Dan’s extended family are all Canes?

I am a cordial fan. I have sat in Georgia Tech, Clemson, and Florida alumni sections. Each time I behaved. I never stand too long. I cheer politely and never boo or berate the opponent. I am a guest in their stands.

Imagine going to someone’s house and insulting their décor, food, and choice of raising their children. I am not classless.

Then I sat in the Miami alumni section and realized the majority of the people there were not Miami alumni. At the end of the game two Seminole fans sitting five rows in front and a few seats to my left started chanting, “Show your diploma!”

The response? “Show your tits!” That was the response. Not “Have some class,” “Go back to Tally,” or even “At least we don’t cheat to get ours.” Well done.

I think highly of the UM. The university is a good institution, and I am glad to claim it as a Florida school. They compliment the other two flagship schools well. I respect the university. That is why I do not respect this guy.

I will mention there was a nice older couple sitting next to me with whom I talked. Classy people. Another man was sitting just in front and he shook my hand.

But those do not make up for the 12,000 “alumni” fans who, like the two Miami girls in front of me, do the tomahawk chop with their middle finger and chant “F*** you Seminoles. F*** you. F*** you.” I give the girls a pass because they were hot and kept turning around because they couldn’t get enough of my friend Ben and me.

So Jill and your friend (sorry, don't remember your name), we were very pleased to be sitting behind you.

I knew the students did this. Hell, the FSU student chant against Miami is “F*** Miami!” Not clever. Not smart. Just hate—kind of like GT and UGA.

But the alumni? Really? Sidewalk alumni most likely. That is the only explanation.

I thought this “the U” nonsense was over when they had a losing season last year and Randy Shannon came in and instilled discipline—something that Johnson, Erickson, and Coker didn’t demand (maybe on the field. But not off. Read Cane Mutiny).

But the whole game, the scoreboard said, “It is all about the U.” The U of what? Because you have an upper case "U" on your helmet. So are Missouri, Michigan, and Minnesota all “the M.”

I do not understand this inflated pride that attracts so many of the “I’m a mother f-ing soldier” types. No kidding—camouflage shorts sitting one row up and three seats in front of me. Next to him, black jean shorts.

Is it because they are in a pro city that the only thing these fans think about is football, and nothing else matters? Are they a Miami Dolphins minor league? What causes so many non-university people to come to a game and act like thugs?

I give them some credit. They were loud...except they were piping in the sound of the band and their student section. OK, so not so much credit there.

I will say my good friend, Tyler, a lifelong Miami friend from Ft. Lauderdale, shook my hand and congratulated me on my victory. That is class. It is a shame for every one of him there are at least two of “the U” fans running around.

I guess that is what you attract when your most famous wide-receiver is a cokehead who says things about Tony Romo on ESPN like “...[there must be] some brothers in that line somewhere...(laughs to himself) somewhere there are some brothers...I don’t know who saw what, where...[maybe] his great, great, great, great Grandma ran over in the hood or something went down...(laughter).”

You had rappers on the sideline handing out cash for sacks, your team secretary supplied and smoked weed with your players, and your starting QB has old English tattoos on the backs of his arm...

OK. Shots at student athletes are not OK. But the kid is showing the world his initials so they can know who he is, and in two games in a row he has thrown an INT in the end zone at the end of the game. If you want everyone to know you, make sure it is for what you do well.

Maybe that’s just it. Maybe “the U” is all nominal. It isn’t about substance. It’s all persona. All style. All swagger...oh wait—you have to win to have that last one.