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- Thread starter Steve19
- Start date
GovTressel
Heisman
It used to be watching the 02 tsun from C-Deck with my best friend to this day when we were 18. The entire 4th quarter was the loudest that stadium has ever been.
Last year that was replaced by the '16 tsun game...specifically standing on the field with the love of my life, singing "Carmen Ohio" and "Sweet Caroline" with thousands of other fans after the game. Those were moments I will always cherish.
Last year that was replaced by the '16 tsun game...specifically standing on the field with the love of my life, singing "Carmen Ohio" and "Sweet Caroline" with thousands of other fans after the game. Those were moments I will always cherish.
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sparcboxbuck
What happened to my ¤cash?
Man, there are a lot of examples, right? All of us have a ton, I'm sure. Going off script on this one. My most memorable moment was at Thanksgiving dinner in '02. My first son was born Jan '02 and was just becoming verbal around Thanksgiving. He had the luxury of watching a lot of games that, his first year on this earth. Anyhow, at Thanksgiving dinner, in front of my father in law (a tsun guy), my son says "Bucka, bucka..." We couldn't figure out what he was saying. My FIL says, "He's saying 'Buckeye,' for Christ's sake, he didn't even have a chance."
Best day ever.
Best day ever.
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"We've always had the best damn band in the land, and the best damn fans in the land. Now, we have the best damn TEAM in the land!"
- James Patrick Tressel
- James Patrick Tressel
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sparcboxbuck
What happened to my ¤cash?
Kinda with you on this. That was a moment of ‘this is going to happen.’ Similar to when MoC stripped the ball in the NC game in Zona.
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Ryan Ginn recounts his time on OSU beat in his last article:
https://www.landof10.com/ohio-state/ohio-state-football-beat-memories
...
- Perhaps the first thing I noticed — and it still amazes me — was the size of the fan base. Even as an LSU graduate, I never saw anything in the SEC that compares to the following Ohio State has. The shocking picture of Cal’s stadium bathed in scarlet came early in my first season and offered a clue that Buckeye Nation was a literal term. My first employer, Buckeye Sports Bulletin, had subscribers in all 50 states, and the Ohio State fan base devours so much coverage that a seemingly limitless amount of outlets can cover it and turn a profit. On road games, the Ohio State beat often had more writers in the press box than the home team. More often than not, the fan base made covering this team easy and fun
- Here’s what happened in the first Ohio State-Michigan game I ever saw in person: There was a full-on fight with multiple ejections early in the second quarter, a crazy back-and-forth game ensued, Ohio State’s defense looked like it would never get a stop … and then it did, on a 2-point conversion with the game on the line after Michigan elected to go for the win instead of playing for a tie. And then while we were back in the press box writing about the craziness, the Kick Six happened and Ohio State was suddenly in a position to play for a national championship. (Though Michigan State ended those hopes one week later.)
Cont'd ...
https://www.landof10.com/ohio-state/ohio-state-football-beat-memories
...
- Perhaps the first thing I noticed — and it still amazes me — was the size of the fan base. Even as an LSU graduate, I never saw anything in the SEC that compares to the following Ohio State has. The shocking picture of Cal’s stadium bathed in scarlet came early in my first season and offered a clue that Buckeye Nation was a literal term. My first employer, Buckeye Sports Bulletin, had subscribers in all 50 states, and the Ohio State fan base devours so much coverage that a seemingly limitless amount of outlets can cover it and turn a profit. On road games, the Ohio State beat often had more writers in the press box than the home team. More often than not, the fan base made covering this team easy and fun
- Here’s what happened in the first Ohio State-Michigan game I ever saw in person: There was a full-on fight with multiple ejections early in the second quarter, a crazy back-and-forth game ensued, Ohio State’s defense looked like it would never get a stop … and then it did, on a 2-point conversion with the game on the line after Michigan elected to go for the win instead of playing for a tie. And then while we were back in the press box writing about the craziness, the Kick Six happened and Ohio State was suddenly in a position to play for a national championship. (Though Michigan State ended those hopes one week later.)
Cont'd ...
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ScriptOhio
Everybody is somebody else's weirdo.
Definitely not Hamby's favorite football moment, but an interesting article:
ALBATROSS
The average lifespan is nearly two and a half billion seconds.
A football game takes 3,600. An NBA game is supposed to last 2,880 but sometimes they go a little longer. Some games end up lasting forever, like Game One of the 2018 NBA Finals.
George Hill was at the free throw line in Oakland with the final 4.7 seconds frozen on the clock. Game tied. His go-ahead point bricked off the rim, but teammate J.R. Smith snatched the ball away from Kevin Durant, Golden State's best player. Time immediately unfroze, and the remaining 4.7 seconds dripped away as Cleveland's first and last-best chance in the Finals was forfeited in historic fashion.
Smith declined the game-winning layup believing the Cavs had already won. It was a timeless gaffe which overwhelmed every other detail, now buried in the rubble of that loss; the officiating fuckery that derailed Cleveland's command of the game just seconds earlier being a prime example. It's easy to also find a missed open shot here, a collection of defensive lapses there - there's no shortage of squandered opportunities in any game. Missed chances almost always outweigh the realized ones.
Buried in the rubble of a loss are all of the garden variety gaffes that look similar - bad officiating, limp passes, terrible ideas and Hill's missed free throw are all similar-sized rocks you can barely differentiate from each in a loss. But 14-year NBA veteran not knowing the score with 4.7 seconds left in an NBA Finals game three feet from the basket does not look like those other rocks. It's a neon boulder in the debris field.
The series was effectively over at that moment. James' visceral anguish toward Smith, his minutes-long dour reaction on the bench ahead of overtime and the Warriors' effortless traipse to a double-digit victory in that extra frame all but ended the series. It's hard to get off the mat after you hit yourself with a rock like Smith's.
I sat on my couch that evening, catatonic, trying to place what Smith did on the proper shelf inside my large mental cabinet of personal sports tragedies. The first shelf I went to was the 2003 NLCS when Steve Bartman reached out and interfered with a foul ball late during the 8th inning of Game Six with the Cubs up 3-2 in the series and 3-0 in the game. Like James in the aftermath of Smith's error, if Moises Alou doesn't demonstrably get upset at that section of the stadium, it's possible this becomes a forgotten moment.
But it wasn't, and the Marlins proceeded to score eight runs. A moment later, Alex Gonzalez booted what would have been an inning-ending double play ball for the Cubs, but when he did - everyone's anger was not focused on him, but at that fan who interfered with the foul ball. Floodgates were opened, juju flipped from good to bad, and he was at fault. James had channeled Alou as time expired in the heat of the moment. Had he simply jogged off the court or given Smith an attaboy (hindsight is a hell of a drug) it's possible overtime would not have been so lopsided.
That 2003 NLSC seemed like the perfect analog but for one crucial variable - the Cubs were in the throes of a championship drought that ended up running 107 years, defying all coin flips and P values for probability. Their collapse brought out the one word in all of sports that exaggerates little rocks like Bartman and transforms them into boulders.
It's the C word. Cursed. He became legend with one swing of a bat. Coincidentally, the entire sequence took 4.7 seconds. That's how long it takes to reach eternity.
The Cavaliers didn't have a drought like that to contend with - they own the past four Eastern Conference titles as well as the 2016 NBA championship, and Smith is a beloved, wily veteran. Their breakthrough two seasons ago not only brought Cleveland a parade, it extended athletes who had been hit with the C Word a bit of a reprieve. José Mesa. Earnest Byner.
Bartman was an asteroid the size of Texas in 2003. Smith is a space rock no bigger than a Volkswagen. Championship fervor is still fresh in Cleveland. Then it hit me, and I dozed off on my couch.
J.R. was much closer to being Ryan Hamby than he was to Bartman. Hamby could have put the Buckeyes up 26-16 against the eventual national champions in a game they would go onto lose 25-22. Never mind that Ohio State settled for five field goals that night. Ignore the safety they handed the Longhorns later on, the bad officiating, limp passes and terrible ideas that blighted that game and every other one that's ever been played.
All the other rocks look the same. We remember that evening precisely for the moment Hamby was hit squarely in the numbers on a perfect throw, took seven steps without anyone near him, and then dropped a touchdown for the second time in a single play. Brent Musberger even shouted TOUCH! but never finished the thought. It was canceled, twice.
.
.
.
continued
Entire article: https://www.elevenwarriors.com/ohio-state-football/2018/06/93983/the-albatross
ALBATROSS
The average lifespan is nearly two and a half billion seconds.
A football game takes 3,600. An NBA game is supposed to last 2,880 but sometimes they go a little longer. Some games end up lasting forever, like Game One of the 2018 NBA Finals.
George Hill was at the free throw line in Oakland with the final 4.7 seconds frozen on the clock. Game tied. His go-ahead point bricked off the rim, but teammate J.R. Smith snatched the ball away from Kevin Durant, Golden State's best player. Time immediately unfroze, and the remaining 4.7 seconds dripped away as Cleveland's first and last-best chance in the Finals was forfeited in historic fashion.
Smith declined the game-winning layup believing the Cavs had already won. It was a timeless gaffe which overwhelmed every other detail, now buried in the rubble of that loss; the officiating fuckery that derailed Cleveland's command of the game just seconds earlier being a prime example. It's easy to also find a missed open shot here, a collection of defensive lapses there - there's no shortage of squandered opportunities in any game. Missed chances almost always outweigh the realized ones.
Buried in the rubble of a loss are all of the garden variety gaffes that look similar - bad officiating, limp passes, terrible ideas and Hill's missed free throw are all similar-sized rocks you can barely differentiate from each in a loss. But 14-year NBA veteran not knowing the score with 4.7 seconds left in an NBA Finals game three feet from the basket does not look like those other rocks. It's a neon boulder in the debris field.
The series was effectively over at that moment. James' visceral anguish toward Smith, his minutes-long dour reaction on the bench ahead of overtime and the Warriors' effortless traipse to a double-digit victory in that extra frame all but ended the series. It's hard to get off the mat after you hit yourself with a rock like Smith's.
I sat on my couch that evening, catatonic, trying to place what Smith did on the proper shelf inside my large mental cabinet of personal sports tragedies. The first shelf I went to was the 2003 NLCS when Steve Bartman reached out and interfered with a foul ball late during the 8th inning of Game Six with the Cubs up 3-2 in the series and 3-0 in the game. Like James in the aftermath of Smith's error, if Moises Alou doesn't demonstrably get upset at that section of the stadium, it's possible this becomes a forgotten moment.
But it wasn't, and the Marlins proceeded to score eight runs. A moment later, Alex Gonzalez booted what would have been an inning-ending double play ball for the Cubs, but when he did - everyone's anger was not focused on him, but at that fan who interfered with the foul ball. Floodgates were opened, juju flipped from good to bad, and he was at fault. James had channeled Alou as time expired in the heat of the moment. Had he simply jogged off the court or given Smith an attaboy (hindsight is a hell of a drug) it's possible overtime would not have been so lopsided.
That 2003 NLSC seemed like the perfect analog but for one crucial variable - the Cubs were in the throes of a championship drought that ended up running 107 years, defying all coin flips and P values for probability. Their collapse brought out the one word in all of sports that exaggerates little rocks like Bartman and transforms them into boulders.
It's the C word. Cursed. He became legend with one swing of a bat. Coincidentally, the entire sequence took 4.7 seconds. That's how long it takes to reach eternity.
The Cavaliers didn't have a drought like that to contend with - they own the past four Eastern Conference titles as well as the 2016 NBA championship, and Smith is a beloved, wily veteran. Their breakthrough two seasons ago not only brought Cleveland a parade, it extended athletes who had been hit with the C Word a bit of a reprieve. José Mesa. Earnest Byner.
Bartman was an asteroid the size of Texas in 2003. Smith is a space rock no bigger than a Volkswagen. Championship fervor is still fresh in Cleveland. Then it hit me, and I dozed off on my couch.
J.R. was much closer to being Ryan Hamby than he was to Bartman. Hamby could have put the Buckeyes up 26-16 against the eventual national champions in a game they would go onto lose 25-22. Never mind that Ohio State settled for five field goals that night. Ignore the safety they handed the Longhorns later on, the bad officiating, limp passes and terrible ideas that blighted that game and every other one that's ever been played.
All the other rocks look the same. We remember that evening precisely for the moment Hamby was hit squarely in the numbers on a perfect throw, took seven steps without anyone near him, and then dropped a touchdown for the second time in a single play. Brent Musberger even shouted TOUCH! but never finished the thought. It was canceled, twice.
.
.
.
continued
Entire article: https://www.elevenwarriors.com/ohio-state-football/2018/06/93983/the-albatross
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0
Definitely not Hamby's favorite football moment, but an interesting article:
ALBATROSS
The average lifespan is nearly two and a half billion seconds.
A football game takes 3,600. An NBA game is supposed to last 2,880 but sometimes they go a little longer. Some games end up lasting forever, like Game One of the 2018 NBA Finals.
George Hill was at the free throw line in Oakland with the final 4.7 seconds frozen on the clock. Game tied. His go-ahead point bricked off the rim, but teammate J.R. Smith snatched the ball away from Kevin Durant, Golden State's best player. Time immediately unfroze, and the remaining 4.7 seconds dripped away as Cleveland's first and last-best chance in the Finals was forfeited in historic fashion.
Smith declined the game-winning layup believing the Cavs had already won. It was a timeless gaffe which overwhelmed every other detail, now buried in the rubble of that loss; the officiating fuckery that derailed Cleveland's command of the game just seconds earlier being a prime example. It's easy to also find a missed open shot here, a collection of defensive lapses there - there's no shortage of squandered opportunities in any game. Missed chances almost always outweigh the realized ones.
Buried in the rubble of a loss are all of the garden variety gaffes that look similar - bad officiating, limp passes, terrible ideas and Hill's missed free throw are all similar-sized rocks you can barely differentiate from each in a loss. But 14-year NBA veteran not knowing the score with 4.7 seconds left in an NBA Finals game three feet from the basket does not look like those other rocks. It's a neon boulder in the debris field.
The series was effectively over at that moment. James' visceral anguish toward Smith, his minutes-long dour reaction on the bench ahead of overtime and the Warriors' effortless traipse to a double-digit victory in that extra frame all but ended the series. It's hard to get off the mat after you hit yourself with a rock like Smith's.
I sat on my couch that evening, catatonic, trying to place what Smith did on the proper shelf inside my large mental cabinet of personal sports tragedies. The first shelf I went to was the 2003 NLCS when Steve Bartman reached out and interfered with a foul ball late during the 8th inning of Game Six with the Cubs up 3-2 in the series and 3-0 in the game. Like James in the aftermath of Smith's error, if Moises Alou doesn't demonstrably get upset at that section of the stadium, it's possible this becomes a forgotten moment.
But it wasn't, and the Marlins proceeded to score eight runs. A moment later, Alex Gonzalez booted what would have been an inning-ending double play ball for the Cubs, but when he did - everyone's anger was not focused on him, but at that fan who interfered with the foul ball. Floodgates were opened, juju flipped from good to bad, and he was at fault. James had channeled Alou as time expired in the heat of the moment. Had he simply jogged off the court or given Smith an attaboy (hindsight is a hell of a drug) it's possible overtime would not have been so lopsided.
That 2003 NLSC seemed like the perfect analog but for one crucial variable - the Cubs were in the throes of a championship drought that ended up running 107 years, defying all coin flips and P values for probability. Their collapse brought out the one word in all of sports that exaggerates little rocks like Bartman and transforms them into boulders.
It's the C word. Cursed. He became legend with one swing of a bat. Coincidentally, the entire sequence took 4.7 seconds. That's how long it takes to reach eternity.
The Cavaliers didn't have a drought like that to contend with - they own the past four Eastern Conference titles as well as the 2016 NBA championship, and Smith is a beloved, wily veteran. Their breakthrough two seasons ago not only brought Cleveland a parade, it extended athletes who had been hit with the C Word a bit of a reprieve. José Mesa. Earnest Byner.
Bartman was an asteroid the size of Texas in 2003. Smith is a space rock no bigger than a Volkswagen. Championship fervor is still fresh in Cleveland. Then it hit me, and I dozed off on my couch.
J.R. was much closer to being Ryan Hamby than he was to Bartman. Hamby could have put the Buckeyes up 26-16 against the eventual national champions in a game they would go onto lose 25-22. Never mind that Ohio State settled for five field goals that night. Ignore the safety they handed the Longhorns later on, the bad officiating, limp passes and terrible ideas that blighted that game and every other one that's ever been played.
All the other rocks look the same. We remember that evening precisely for the moment Hamby was hit squarely in the numbers on a perfect throw, took seven steps without anyone near him, and then dropped a touchdown for the second time in a single play. Brent Musberger even shouted TOUCH! but never finished the thought. It was canceled, twice.
.
.
.
continued
Entire article: https://www.elevenwarriors.com/ohio-state-football/2018/06/93983/the-albatross
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Sadly I haven't been able to watch consistently in Urban era... though it's first time since childhood I've been able to attend a game (and it was Iowa -_- ... made up for it going to Indy though)
Anyway, Boston in the Rose Bowl, Gonzo's catch, and Zeke 85yds through the Heart of the South have to stay at the top for me.
Anyway, Boston in the Rose Bowl, Gonzo's catch, and Zeke 85yds through the Heart of the South have to stay at the top for me.
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Woody yelling across the field at Schebechler, "I read your Gawdamm book!", in the closing minutes of an OSU win.
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