Notre Dame Football Must Rediscover Its Identity in 2010

In the movie Office Space, Milton Waddams looks like he has some deep Irish heritage. Reddish-brown hair, pale complexion and freckles, he has the look of a textbook ginger.

In the last 16 years, the Notre Dame football team has personified Milton in the college football world—lowly, unassuming, not expected to make a fuss. Saturdays have been an exercise of going through the motions, listening to the radio at a reasonable volume from 9 to 11. When birthday cake was served, Notre Dame passed it on, just like they were told, only to wind up empty handed.

For two Irish head coaches in the recently revolving door, this mentality was just fine. Thanks to an error in payroll, they collected their paychecks and went home. Staplers were stolen and weekends were lost without so much as a mumble of protest.

The next coach tried to scheme his way into success only to find out that his defensive coordinator left out the mundane detail of stopping anyone. When the smoke cleared, the program found itself unceremoniously demoted from the corner office down into Storage-B with nothing but boxes and a can of Raid.

That's funny in a pathetic sort of way. But that's not Notre Dame football. Notre Dame is no more the lovable loser than it is the showboating winner. Notre Dame is about football that should speak softly and carry an oak tree. The Hulk never brags about his “decided schematic advantage”; he just crushes people. Nothing else needs to be said. Notre Dame football should do the same and go about its business which, tradition holds, is unapologetically stuffing opponents’ helmets into their pads

 (see below).

Yet for 16 years, the Irish have let their noses be rubbed in the dog excrement of opponents’ highlights turning no-names into Players of the Week, and Players of the Week into Heisman candidates (Carson Palmer, Matt Leinhart, Reggie Bush, Toby Gerhart, and not so much as one Thank You card). Coaches have survived the guillotine by beating us (you’re welcome Dave Wannstedt) rather than vice versa (Rich Rodriguez, meet John L. Smith).

That is a healthy amount of injury, but there’s certainly been no shortage insult. Opponents are taking brazen licence with Irish apathy by digging up turf like Carl Spackler or planting a flag like Marvin the Martian (see 3:45). This has given birth to another abomination, the Blind Oracle Of Bristol, that has survived an unnaturally long existence subsisting only on the anguish of the Irish faithful.

However, all of these plagues are just symptoms of a diseased core, the external manifestations of a lost identity. Talk of conferences and academic standards are simply the distracting excuses of those either looking for the short answer or willing to compromise excellence. Those excuses can and will disappear when Notre Dame expunges the deeper problem and gets back to its roots.

So Brian Kelly, Notre Dame Nation asks you, begs you, to reteach the Fighting Irish how to fight. Return every Saturday to a Day of Reckoning for exacting righteous retribution on those who have defiled the Notre Dame name. You start tomorrow with Purdue.

Enough is enough, this is the last straw. It's time to burn down the building.