DDN
When your son's a Buckeye: lots of pride, some sacrifice
The Pitcocks and others say there's fatigue and a loss of identity, but 'it's a great experience.'
By Kyle Nagel
Staff Writer
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Living in Ohio, Jane Pitcock had seen the flags and license plates backing the Ohio State University football team. Not to mention the jerseys, tailgates, television watch parties and other massive outpourings of support for the Buckeyes.
"I thought they were going a little overboard," Pitcock said, "and now I'm one of them."
That's because Pitcock's son, Quinn, is an Ohio State defensive lineman and captain from Piqua High School. Like other parents of Ohio State football players ? particularly those who live in Ohio ? the Pitcocks have been swept up in Buckeyes Mania while their son wears the pads for OSU, which enters today's game against Michigan State ranked No. 1 in the country.
It's a special feeling to see a son play for Ohio State, those parents said, and it comes with excitement as well as sacrifice.
"I'm no longer Dave Homan, I'm, 'Ross Homan's dad,' " said Dave Homan, whose son Ross is a freshman linebacker from Coldwater. "You totally lose your personal identity."
And what do you get in return? Tickets, for one. Friends you never knew you had sending e-mails and stopping by the house with things for your son to autograph and a fall full of Saturday commitments for up to five years.
From the Buckeyes' national championship for the 2002 season to the OSU hysteria surrounding this season's stay at the top of the rankings, Ohio State arguably is as popular as ever. Mom and dad, meanwhile, struggle to mix parental maturity with their own Buckeye mania as they watch their sons on the Horseshoe turf.
"Last year he didn't even play, but watching him come out of that tunnel was so exciting," said Dawn Spitler, whose son Austin is a redshirt freshman linebacker from Bellbrook. "It's just an awesome experience. We're so glad he was talented enough to get there."
A full weekend
Bart and Teri Denlinger are among the first parents to arrive on game day. Two years ago, as the 6-foot-3, 280-pound Todd accepted his scholarship as a defensive lineman with OSU, Bart found an RV online and drove to Chicago to purchase it. The computer-screen photograph looked scarlet, but unfortunately it's more of a burgundy.
The Denlingers take their spot in the RV lot by the Jesse Owens Memorial Stadium and head to the Varsity Club for Friday night dinner, which is quickly becoming a family tradition. Ohio State fans turn the restaurant into a mini-pep rally, said Teri, who serves as secretary for the Ohio State Football Parents Association.
The Pitcocks, meanwhile, leave early Saturday morning with as many relatives as possible. They brunch at the Blackwell Hotel, where the team stays on the nights before games, before getting their tickets at the Will Call window.
The tickets that players leave, the parents said, are generally between each 30-yard line in the first 10 rows. Those valuable seats are clearly one of the benefits of being an Ohio State football parent.
"I know I have to stay on good terms with Austin," Greg Spitler joked, "because I like those tickets."
Then the game starts, and the parenting really kicks in. Somebody's little boy is getting hit on national television, and the drama can be difficult to handle.
"It's physically exhausting," Jane Pitcock said. "I feel like I played in the game."
After the game, it's usually off to dinner, generally at a Champps, Damon's or Outback. Many of the families recognize each other.
After all, they're in the same parent fraternity now.
Requests, paperwork
From Sunday to Friday, Ohio State football parents live their normal lives. Dave Homan is a real estate broker in Coldwater, a town of about 4,500, so he was already well-known for his son's high school football successes.
But sometimes, the OSU football connection emerges. After Saturday's victory against Bowling Green, television cameras caught Austin Spitler standing next to star quarterback Troy Smith as they chatted. Dawn Spitler has received several messages about the sighting.
Then there's the paperwork. When Quinn Pitcock signs his autograph to anything for charity, he and his parents have to fill out a form for the compliance department. Even if it's a simple video featuring him as a favor to fellow Piqua residents to run at their tailgate party before games, there's a piece of paper to complete.
"There are so many rules," Jane Pitcock said, "so you have to be careful."
That's how it is when you have a familial "in" with the hottest team in college football, whether your son is a star or not. Hopefully, the rest of the family understands as well.
"The hardest thing for us is the balancing act with our other children when we have one that's the center of attention for 12 months out of the year," said Teri Denlinger, whose other two children, 22-year-old Kyle and 10-year-old Annie also make sacrifices. "That's just part of the experience, but it's a great experience."
When your son's a Buckeye: lots of pride, some sacrifice
The Pitcocks and others say there's fatigue and a loss of identity, but 'it's a great experience.'
By Kyle Nagel
Staff Writer
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Living in Ohio, Jane Pitcock had seen the flags and license plates backing the Ohio State University football team. Not to mention the jerseys, tailgates, television watch parties and other massive outpourings of support for the Buckeyes.
"I thought they were going a little overboard," Pitcock said, "and now I'm one of them."
That's because Pitcock's son, Quinn, is an Ohio State defensive lineman and captain from Piqua High School. Like other parents of Ohio State football players ? particularly those who live in Ohio ? the Pitcocks have been swept up in Buckeyes Mania while their son wears the pads for OSU, which enters today's game against Michigan State ranked No. 1 in the country.
It's a special feeling to see a son play for Ohio State, those parents said, and it comes with excitement as well as sacrifice.
"I'm no longer Dave Homan, I'm, 'Ross Homan's dad,' " said Dave Homan, whose son Ross is a freshman linebacker from Coldwater. "You totally lose your personal identity."
And what do you get in return? Tickets, for one. Friends you never knew you had sending e-mails and stopping by the house with things for your son to autograph and a fall full of Saturday commitments for up to five years.
From the Buckeyes' national championship for the 2002 season to the OSU hysteria surrounding this season's stay at the top of the rankings, Ohio State arguably is as popular as ever. Mom and dad, meanwhile, struggle to mix parental maturity with their own Buckeye mania as they watch their sons on the Horseshoe turf.
"Last year he didn't even play, but watching him come out of that tunnel was so exciting," said Dawn Spitler, whose son Austin is a redshirt freshman linebacker from Bellbrook. "It's just an awesome experience. We're so glad he was talented enough to get there."
A full weekend
Bart and Teri Denlinger are among the first parents to arrive on game day. Two years ago, as the 6-foot-3, 280-pound Todd accepted his scholarship as a defensive lineman with OSU, Bart found an RV online and drove to Chicago to purchase it. The computer-screen photograph looked scarlet, but unfortunately it's more of a burgundy.
The Denlingers take their spot in the RV lot by the Jesse Owens Memorial Stadium and head to the Varsity Club for Friday night dinner, which is quickly becoming a family tradition. Ohio State fans turn the restaurant into a mini-pep rally, said Teri, who serves as secretary for the Ohio State Football Parents Association.
The Pitcocks, meanwhile, leave early Saturday morning with as many relatives as possible. They brunch at the Blackwell Hotel, where the team stays on the nights before games, before getting their tickets at the Will Call window.
The tickets that players leave, the parents said, are generally between each 30-yard line in the first 10 rows. Those valuable seats are clearly one of the benefits of being an Ohio State football parent.
"I know I have to stay on good terms with Austin," Greg Spitler joked, "because I like those tickets."
Then the game starts, and the parenting really kicks in. Somebody's little boy is getting hit on national television, and the drama can be difficult to handle.
"It's physically exhausting," Jane Pitcock said. "I feel like I played in the game."
After the game, it's usually off to dinner, generally at a Champps, Damon's or Outback. Many of the families recognize each other.
After all, they're in the same parent fraternity now.
Requests, paperwork
From Sunday to Friday, Ohio State football parents live their normal lives. Dave Homan is a real estate broker in Coldwater, a town of about 4,500, so he was already well-known for his son's high school football successes.
But sometimes, the OSU football connection emerges. After Saturday's victory against Bowling Green, television cameras caught Austin Spitler standing next to star quarterback Troy Smith as they chatted. Dawn Spitler has received several messages about the sighting.
Then there's the paperwork. When Quinn Pitcock signs his autograph to anything for charity, he and his parents have to fill out a form for the compliance department. Even if it's a simple video featuring him as a favor to fellow Piqua residents to run at their tailgate party before games, there's a piece of paper to complete.
"There are so many rules," Jane Pitcock said, "so you have to be careful."
That's how it is when you have a familial "in" with the hottest team in college football, whether your son is a star or not. Hopefully, the rest of the family understands as well.
"The hardest thing for us is the balancing act with our other children when we have one that's the center of attention for 12 months out of the year," said Teri Denlinger, whose other two children, 22-year-old Kyle and 10-year-old Annie also make sacrifices. "That's just part of the experience, but it's a great experience."
